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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Do you think you would enjoy writing a fairytale-esque Nielan story? Except, instead of being the scary beast or the fearsome dragon like he usually is, it's Nie Mingjue who gets to be in the heroine/damsel's role. :D

Toxicity - part 1 - ao3

When Nie Mingjue turned sixteen years old, he was alone.

He had taken nothing with him but his saber, Baxia. He had hugged his brother maybe-goodbye, and then he had gone down into the saber tombs to wait to see if this was the year he was going to go insane.

He hoped it wasn’t, of course. They’d lost his father only the year before, murdered by one of their political enemies – poisoned with his own saber, secretly weakened so that it’d shatter in the middle of a night-hunt and coated with some sort of toxin that ate away his brain within a few months. If Nie Mingjue went insane this year, his little brother, Nie Huaisang, would need to step up as the leader of their sect, and he was only eight years old.

(He didn’t have to spend his eighth birthday shivering in the saber tombs that he hadn’t even known existed before that day, clutching a saber he barely knew, in pain and wondering if he was about to die, but then again, Nie Huaisang wasn’t the one who’d been cursed with a body that cultivated three times as well as everybody else but would eventually cause him to lose his mind when he turned some multiple of eight.)

If he didn’t go insane this year, Nie Mingjue would finally accept the role of sect leader officially, and he’d devote himself to making his sect as powerful as he could in the short time he had left to him. He’d been refusing the role so far, purportedly on account of his grief at his father’s death, and everyone had been very understanding – only those closest to him knew the truth. He would have preferred that Nie Huaisang not know, maybe not ever but definitely not so young, but if Nie Mingjue really did go insane this year then Nie Huaisang would have to be sect leader, or at least sect-leader-to-be with their uncle twice removed acting as sect leader until he was old enough to take charge, so he had to know.

He’d cried a lot before Nie Mingjue left, and there wasn’t anything Nie Mingjue could do about it other than spend a bit of his time in the cold saber tomb mentally cursing the ones that did this to him.

It was, he’d been informed, originally meant as a gift.

His parents had had trouble conceiving shortly after their marriage, all their pregnancies ending up as miscarriages, and rather than marry in a concubine his father, hotheaded and reckless, had taken his bride to the mountains to request help from the dragons that sometimes stayed there as they passed through Qinghe on their mysterious business.

There’d been two of them, apparently. One was a celestial dragon, blue and white as a sky at noon and just as noble, five-clawed and smooth-scaled; the other a lowly flood dragon, yellow-bellied and scuttling and stinking of earth – while the ways of dragons were mysterious, Nie Mingjue’s father had confidently asserted that the two of them were sworn brothers in the same way as men, the latter having once saved the life of the former, and that their brotherhood had once included as its chief the proud azure dragon of the east, green of scale and mightier than either of the others.

The celestial dragon had heard their plea and had been delighted to be asked. He had sung them a song of overwhelming might, filling their ears to the point that Nie Mingjue’s mother became half-deaf, and promised them that they would not only bear a child, but that it would be blessed with the strength of the heroes of the ancient days, so as to serve with honor his parents, his sect, his land, his world. He shall be righteous and unyielding, straightforward and upright, the celestial dragon had declared, and then, having exhausted himself in his exertions, had retreated to the top of the mountain to sleep.

The flood dragon had watched the whole proceeding with a pleasant smile on its face, nodding along in interest, but the very moment the celestial dragon had closed its eyes he had said, Let me give you something too and breathed out poisonous fumes that had choked them both nearly to death. With that pleasant smile still firmly on its lips, it had told them a secret: that the celestial dragon had given them a gift, but that all gifts had a price. Their child would be just like the heroes of old, a candle burning too fiercely – doomed to madness that would turn all his strength into destruction, rendered blind and unable to tell apart those he loved from those he hated, turned into a beast that knew nothing but slaughter.

But not to worry, the flood dragon said. While he did not have the strength of the celestial dragon, he had taken a little bit of their life energy and used it and his own poison to lock away the prophesied madness into one year in every eight, so that their child would be able to live free and carefree the rest of the time.

At the time, they had thanked him, but – Nie Mingjue’s mother had been so weakened by the poison that she had not survived his birth, his father rendered vulnerable to his neighbor’s underhanded attack, and far from living free and carefree Nie Mingjue lived instead in terror of his eventual fate, knowing that one day he would go mad in the worst sort of way.

Some gift!

Nie Mingjue spent his sixteenth birthday meditating in the saber tombs, his saber unsheathed on his lap in the likely vain hope that if he really did go insane, he would turn it against himself out of lack of any other enemy to butcher as his ancestors had once done to animals for trade. He remained there for two days and two nights, wracked with terrible gripping pain from the remnants of the flood dragon’s palliative poison, and emerged only once there was no trace of the date left and he had answered all the questions posed to him by the guards set at the door to the tombs to their satisfaction, proving that he hadn’t gone mad and didn’t need to be left inside to either kill himself or slowly starve to death.

His brother was waiting for him by the gate of their home and had thrown himself into his arms, weeping, and Nie Mingjue vowed to himself that he would use the next eight years of his life to let Nie Huaisang live the best life he could give him.

He did the best he could.

Nie Mingjue devoted himself to strengthening his sect, recruiting steadily and devoting all his time to sect matters, putting aside any frivolity; to each one who rose to a level of sufficient strength and trust, Nie Mingjue entrusted the duty of guarding Nie Huaisang, pleading with them that when he died they would put themselves into his shoes, care for him as any elder brother would. He made sure his borders were well-defended and well-stocked, layer after layer of protections in place in the event of external attack, building it so that it could shut tight like a turtle in its shell, hidden behind an implacable wall of iron. To deal with internal threats, he promoted people on the basis of talent, careful not to have either too many old retainers or too many new faces, wanting each group to watch the other to try to forestall the other.

He tried to strengthen Nie Huaisang himself, but he had much less success with that. Terrified as he was of lashing out against his loved ones, Nie Mingjue found himself yielding time and time again to all of Nie Huaisang’s requests, forgiving all his faults and mistakes, the only educational tools left to him being scolding and appeals to Nie Huaisang’s own good sense.

Still, Nie Huaisang grew up clever, if lazy and a mediocre cultivator, and there was darkness in his eyes when he spoke of dragons, a common artistic motif that never appeared in any of his art.

When Nie Mingjue was twenty three and Nie Huaisang fifteen, he sent letters to the reclusive Cloud Recesses, a sect hidden away in the mountains of Gusu that was renowned for its artistic achievements in music and painting as well as swordsmanship, asking for permission for Nie Huaisang to attend lessons that summer. They agreed, leading to a flock of other sects seeking similar permission lest the Nie sect use the opportunity to form an alliance without including them.

Nie Mingjue had only been trying to find a place where Nie Huaisang could learn skills that would suit him well, and also to keep him out of the growing tensions developing with the Wen sect that had killed his father and had made several attempts to kill him, too, that only failed on account of underestimating his cultivation and martial skills – an easy mistake to make, if you didn’t know his story – but having Nie Huaisang befriend the other sect heirs and shining talents of his generation could only help increase his security, so he approved.

When he came to drop Nie Huaisang off, though, he insisted, as regretfully and politely as he could, on hearing about the defenses they had in place.

“If you do not trust us to protect your brother, perhaps you should rethink sending him to us at all,” Lan Qiren said, voice sharp and querulous. He was the sect’s representative – not actually sect leader, but the one who left their reclusive abode to do the external parts of the job normally associated with leadership – and the teacher in charge of the visiting students, and Nie Mingjue did not want to offend him, but he also knew how insidious the Wen sect could be when they wanted. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unwilling to retract the demand but also not wanting to spoil Nie Huaisang’s visit before it had even begun.

“It is a reasonable request,” said a calm voice that nevertheless carried with it a hint of laughter from behind his back, and Nie Mingjue tensed, not having heard someone approach. “Let me show Sect Leader Nie around, uncle.”

Lan Qiren’s face softened at once, something Nie Mingjue had never seen happen on his face before; he stroked his beard and cleared his throat before nodding, saving face by allowing himself to be persuaded.

Nie Mingjue saluted and bowed deeply, murmuring, “My sincere thanks for your indulgence,” before turning to look at – the most beautiful young man he’d ever seen in his life, actually. Tall and slender, dressed in the Lan sect’s white and blue, with a xiao tucked into his belt and a gentle smile on his face and warmth in his eyes...

Nie Mingjue had to clear his throat himself before saluting him as well, although the young man hummed immediately in disapproval and caught him before he could bow. “Nie Mingjue,” he said. “Of Qinghe Nie. And you are…?”

“Lan Xichen,” the young man said, omitting even his sect affiliation – though that was obvious enough. “Come with me, I’ll show you the main defenses we have set in place, although not all of them, of course.”

“Naturally,” Nie Mingjue hurried to say. “I would never want to pry into your sect’s secrets, Lan-gongzi! It’s only – my younger brother…”

“You’re worried about him,” Lan Xichen said, his smile deepening. “I understand.”

Normally, Nie Mingjue would leave it at that – he was not overly given to speaking with people, but he couldn’t help himself in this case. “He’s all I have in the world,” he admitted. “And I know I can’t protect him forever, or even for very much longer, but…what I can do, I would do.”

“You don’t need to explain, Sect Leader Nie –”

“Please,” Nie Mingjue said gruffly. “Call me by name.”

“Then I insist you call me by mine,” Lan Xichen said.

Nie Mingjue nodded, and they walked in comfortable silence. After a while, he, again uncharacteristically, initiated conversation: “You called Teacher Lan uncle, and he seems especially fond of you, much more than most. Are you directly related?”

“Oh, yes,” Lan Xichen said. “I’m his – ah, his nephew.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “Really? I thought that was Lan Wangji…?”

“My younger brother,” Lan Xichen said, and he looked so pleased that Nie Mingjue didn’t have it in him to question any further, even though he’d really thought that Lan Wangji was the sole sect heir.

Still, when they came across Lan Wangji himself a little later, he saluted them both and referred to Lan Xichen as ‘xiongzhang’ – formal, but then again, Lan Wangji was very formal in all things – with a minute change of expression that suggested adoration, even awe, and so Nie Mingjue told himself that perhaps he had been mistaken. Or perhaps he had simply misunderstood, perhaps Lan Wangji was only the acting sect heir for external affairs, in the same way that Lan Qiren was, or maybe Lan Xichen had simply been exempted from the line of inheritance for whatever reason…

Either way, it wasn’t really his business.

He certainly wasn’t going to bring it up in front of Lan Xichen, with whom he unexpectedly got along splendidly – the conversation flowed easily, ranging over all sorts of subjects, and Nie Mingjue felt comfortable as if he’d known the other man for years.

“We must have been brothers in a past life,” he told Lan Xichen, and noticed the way Lan Xichen’s eyes grew briefly distant and dim, a little sad.

“We must have been,” he agreed, and clasped Nie Mingjue’s hands in his. “Regardless, I do not have words to express how much joy it brings me to meet you again in this life, my friend.”

Nie Mingjue went home feeling as light as air.

He clung onto that feeling throughout his twenty-fourth birthday, when the pangs of the poison wracked his body into horrific spasms, his back arching and arms and legs thrashing and every vein and meridian in his body aching fit to burst; it hurt so much that he thought he really would go insane, but just when he thought it was too much the pain began to fade and he survived.

Still, the experience was a bitter reminder that no matter how much Nie Mingjue’s heart sang and mood brightened at every letter from Lan Xichen, no matter how much he looked forward to discussion conferences as much as he had previously despised them only for the chance to see him, they could never be anything more than friends.

Distant friends, even. Bad enough that he would cause Nie Huaisang so much pain when he died too young – it didn’t seem right to impose friendship on someone else who did not know.

Of course, thinking was one thing and enacting another, and Lan Xichen ignored every attempt he made to try away and put distance between them, visiting whenever he didn’t answer letters and refusing to be dissuaded when he tried to keep his responses curt and uninviting.

“Xichen, please,” Nie Mingjue said one evening, when they had been walking the ramparts in the Unclean Realm, he in his familial green and Lan Xichen in blue but both cast into equal shades of grey in the light of the moon, and he thought he’d never been happier in his life. “You don’t understand – I’m going to die, and you’ll be left behind. How can I do that to you?”

“Even if you died tomorrow, I would be happy to have been your friend today,” Lan Xichen declared, and Nie Mingjue wanted to kiss him more than anything. “Don’t push me away, Mingjue-xiong. Please.”

Nie Mingjue always yielded to those he loved most.

“All right,” he said with a sigh. “All right. Only promise me that you’ll stay safe, and that if – if I ever turn on you, or threaten you –”

“Remember that I can defend myself,” Lan Xichen said with a laugh. “Better than you might think. You aren’t nearly as bad at controlling your temper as you think, Mingjue-xiong.”

Nie Mingjue couldn’t explain more without explaining it all, and he didn’t want Lan Xichen to pity him, so he didn’t. They parted on good terms, with Nie Mingjue promising to return each correspondence as soon as he received them this time, and to let Lan Xichen know if he got any more “stupid ideas” from which he needed to be dissuaded.

The next letter arrived in the hands of a young man with a pleasant smile who introduced himself as Meng Yao.

“Xichen-xiong said that you valued talent and recognized merit,” he said. “I thought I might prevail on his recommendation, if you have room…?”

Nie Mingjue thought to himself with a smile that Lan Xichen had sent him a babysitter, and agreed to accept Meng Yao as a guest disciple. It didn’t take long to realize that Lan Xichen had sent him a treasure, brilliant at organizing and personnel management, wise beyond his years, and while he didn’t want to embarrass his friend by thanking him directly, he made sure to speak very highly of Meng Yao in all his letters. Lan Xichen responded warmly, saying how happy he was that Nie Mingjue was surrounded by people he trusted who supported him, and Nie Mingjue thought to himself with satisfaction that his message had been understood.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin guangyao #my fic #my fics #toxicity #wantonlywindswept

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catflorist · 3 years

Text

Stars (ao3/ffn) catflorist warning: major character death

Sasuke joined the Akatsuki for simple reasons. He heard they had a plan to destroy the shinobi world, and he wanted a part of it.

As a blizzard raged in the cold northern air, he followed a dark-robed figure into a passageway carved into the cliffside of a snow-capped mountain. The tunnel twisted and turned, snaking past cavernous rooms and rocky chambers. Akatsuki forces milled about everywhere, red clouds hovering on dark cloaks everywhere he looked. His guide, Konan, led him past without stopping.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To our leader,” Konan said, leading him deeper. “She says she knows you.”

He was sure they were halfway through the mountain before she stopped by a metal door.

“Wait here.”

She knocked and the door opened a crack. Whispered words were exchanged, too low for Sasuke to overhear.

“You’ll have to wait,” Konan said. “She's still bathing.”

Sasuke was annoyed. Why was Karin going through these theatrics? He hadn’t seen her for months, not since disbanded the team and left to face Itachi alone. How she’d ended up in the Akatsuki he couldn't guess. Not only that, she somehow had all of them tiptoeing around her.

“Tell Karin I don't have time to wait,” he snapped.

Konan gave him a curious look, but stayed silent.

“What?”

“Enter,” a voice called from inside. The way it echoed off the rock, it didn't sound like Karin’s voice at all.

He stormed in. Torches lit the dark room in a flickering glow, and the air felt warm. A shadowed figure rose from a steaming pool of water. An attendant held out a billowing Akatsuki robe, helping guide arms through sleeves.

When the light caught her face, shock ripped through him. Because it wasn’t Karin.

Her pink hair was dripping wet, her cheeks hollowed. She pulled on glasses over red-rimmed eyes pinched with pain, the green irises huge beneath the thick lenses. The dark robe slipped off bare, bony shoulders—was that all she was wearing? He averted his eyes, stared at the steam curled in the air. His guard down, his chakra stretched out to meet hers of its own accord. But there was nothing.

He recoiled. How was that possible? She should be dead.

A diamond mark on her forehead pulsed like the core of a star, the only part of her with any vitality, energy. That and her eyes—they were still bright and sharp. The rest was fading.

“It's good to see you,” Sakura said.

It didn’t take long for Sasuke to understand. The chakra stored in Sakura’s seal was all that kept her alive, and one day it would run out.

At the same time, it all depended on her, it seemed, the meticulously planned attack on the shinobi world. She was its life force. Every ounce of her remaining chakra was rationed and monitored, planned in advance for that day. It was all anyone talked about, the reason why heads lowered in respect when speaking Sakura’s name.

To fill his time Sasuke accepted mission after mission. He brought back intel, took out troublesome political figures, and weakened supply chains, doing anything they asked of him to prepare for the attack on Konoha, three months away.

He avoided Sakura.

One night Konan pushed aside the curtain hanging in the door of his small chamber, an alcove in the stone set apart from the other Akatsuki members. “You’re back. What was it this time?”

“We intercepted a shipment of weapons,” he said. “They’re waiting in the meeting room.”

“When do you set out again?”

“I don’t know yet. What do you want?”

Konan met his eyes. “She wants to see you.”

He crossed his arms. “Tell her I'm busy.”

“You think you’re so important,” she said in that calm, mild way of hers. “You wouldn’t act this way, if you truly understood the magnitude of what she’s doing for us. For the world.”

Overcome with sudden anger, Sasuke forgot he came to the Akatsuki willingly, that each day he helped advance its mission. That he too hated what their world had done to his family.

“It's all for nothing!” he spat. “You’re throwing her away. For nothing.”

“You’re selfish. It’s no wonder you don’t understand sacrifice.”

He grit his teeth. “Find another way.”

“She’s dying already,” she said. “She’s just making something from the time she has left. What have you done with your life?”

Sakura was frozen. Dying. Sasuke pictured her in a land of ice, the snowy expanse that surrounded the mountain lit by a weak and wintery sun. Perhaps she could stretch her life a few years, each day lighting her chakra no brighter than a candle’s fire, barely warming her hands in the cold.

Instead she would burn up all at once, quick and hot and bright, like an exploding star, and maybe something would grow after the flames cooled. Fire always led to life in some way after all. She would not wait to freeze to death.

“Go away,” Sasuke snarled. The curtain was already flapping in the doorway.

Sasuke stormed through the hideout after a botched assignment. What should have been a simple scouting mission had turned into a bloodbath after a surprise ambush. The hidden villages were growing more hostile and clever as the day of the attack drew nearer.

He didn’t pay attention to his loud footsteps, the eyes following him in fear, until a figure darted into his path. One of Sakura’s attendants, blocking his way with an outstretched arm, a finger held to her lips.

“What?”

“She's asleep.” Her voice was hushed, like discussing a sleeping god. Not his old, annoying pink-haired teammate.

Sasuke stepped back. “So?”

“It's the first time in three days.”

Sasuke realized the hideout was utterly quiet except for their conversation. If he listened hard enough he might hear snow falling outside.

An old memory flashed through him. When they were genin, taking missions as a team, how much Sakura hated waking up in the morning. She’d groan and clutch her pillow, though she’d always get up and help him with their breakfast anyway. That Sakura would never struggle to fall asleep for three days. How things had changed.

Sasuke knew when she woke up, because the deathly silence in the compound lifted. Foot traffic picked up again, the scent of cooking food from the mess hall drifted through the halls.

He walked down the twisted passageway to the metal door, following the route he’d memorized, though he hadn’t ventured this way since Konan led him the first time. He pushed open the doors without knocking.

A wide futon was spread on the ground, where Sakura lay against soft pillows. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell from the stiffness of her shoulders that she was awake.

“Sakura,” he said.

Her head turned, set deep in the pillows like it held a heavy weight. She did not look surprised to see him, did not ask why he’d avoided her for weeks. “Sit down.”

With some reluctance, he lowered himself on the edge of the futon. Steam curled in the air, and water gurgled somewhere hidden, feeding the spring. Beneath the blanket, Sakura’s legs shifted gingerly.

“What happened to you?” he said.

“It’s this world,” she said. “Person after person, sent out to get killed. To protect someone else’s money, or goods, or to fight in pointless wars. And the survivors, they sent them all to me. It never ended.”

She closed her eyes again. “I healed, and healed, until something inside me broke. I couldn’t make chakra anymore. Without my seal I would have died then and there.”

Without meaning to, Sasuke’s hand stretched out, brushing her forehead, where the mark lay. Her brow was feverishly hot.

“That’s nice,” she whispered. He was about to pull away, but his fingers changed course, trailing into her hair, drawing a sigh. He didn’t know what to do. It was a long time since he’d tried to be gentle. He tried to think of what he liked as a child, the comforting touches he received from his mother, or Itachi, a lifetime ago.

When he finally lifted his hand, the cords of her neck seemed less tense, her head less heavy on the pillow.

She exhaled. “I was dying. I’d given everything away, but still they wanted more. That’s why I’m here. The way this world is, it can’t go on. Everything I have left is going into changing it.”

“This world won’t change,” he muttered.

A thin arm emerged from the blankets, fumbling at her bedside for her glasses. She slipped the frames on, appraising him with large eyes. “Then why are you here?”

This new Sakura was a stranger in many ways. She carried herself with a quiet calmness, a stillness, like she’d lived longer than her years. When she walked down the corridors of the hideout, heads bowed. At gatherings, she barely needed to speak louder than a whisper, because everyone listening hung onto her every word.

Knowing she favored him, the members of the Akatsuki looked differently at Sasuke, too. They brought him into their meeting rooms, seeking his advice and ideas. He learned why each of them wanted to destroy the shinobi system. Its claws had harmed others beyond himself. He started to believe they could truly build something new. Something better, that would never force older brothers into cruel and heartless choices.

When Sasuke returned from a mission he found Sakura sitting on a ledge under the stars, snow gently falling around her. They were high up on the mountain, but the sky was white and hazy in all directions, so he could barely tell where they were or what lay in the distance beyond the haze.

“What are you doing out here? It’s cold.”

“I like the fresh air.”

He sat next to her, knowing it was useless to argue. Everyone knew Sakura did as she wanted.

“My father used to use his katon on days like this. His fireball was strong enough to span the whole length of the lake. But when it was cold, he used it to warm his breath.”

“Show me,” she said.

His hands shaped the quick signs. When he exhaled, a soft puff of fire curled out, a flash of red and orange warming their icy surroundings. “Like this.”

Sakura watched him with furrowed brows. “Can you teach me?”

“Yes, but…�� He stopped, tried again. “You can’t...”

“I can’t use my chakra,” she said. “But I can still learn.”

He took her hands. “Serpent, ram, monkey, boar, horse, tiger.” He didn’t need to, but he shaped her fingers through the signs. “Pull the chakra into your throat. Let it churn. Exhale.”

Sakura mimed the signs, paused in concentration so the chakra could build. Of course, it was only pretend. She exhaled. Her cold breath hung in the air, the furthest thing from fire.

“Thank you. I understand now. Your katon always fascinated me.” She opened her eyes. “Once, I saw you practicing in the distance. I secretly hoped, one day, you would teach me yourself.”

Bitterness filled him. “Not like this.”

“This is enough,” she said, her voice kind.

He thought about young Sakura—energetic and talkative, irritating, nervous around him. He pictured her, watching as he exhaled fire, wishing. The way her voice sounded as she spoke to his back, because he didn’t have the strength to turn and look at her, begging him to stay, or to take her with him.

“Did you mean what you said? The night I left?”

For once she didn’t meet his eyes. “That I loved you? Yes, I meant it.” Then her calm returned. “I’m glad you’ve thought about it since then.”

He felt the urge to throw her off guard, to catch a glimpse of the girl from his memories.

“You still love me,” he accused.

Her eyes seemed to sadden. She touched his face, her hand growing warm. He wrenched away, but it was too late. A cut on his cheek was healed.

He held his cheek like she had burned him. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m in control. I know how much I have left. Shouldn’t I be able to do what I want with it?”

Her hand remained outstretched. He gripped her wrist tightly, so tight it must hurt, and threw it away from himself.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Why are you always bathing?” Sasuke asked her once.

Shameless, she stood up in the bath, reaching for her robe. He tried very hard to ignore her body, only glancing up when he was sure the robe was around her. The front hung loose, only her hand clasping it together.

“It hurts less in the water.”

Her eyes always gave everything away. Even when they were kids. They said everything she was thinking. When he met her eyes now, he was dazed to find unguarded curiosity, desire. The difference now was she put it bluntly to words.

“Haven't you wondered?” she said.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t. He was wondering now, painfully aware of how his body was reacting to her there, so close, so easy to touch.

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “You’re—you’re sick.” Dying. But he couldn't say that. “I could hurt you.”

“I've never been as fragile as you thought I was.”

She let the cloak slip. It draped down low, revealing the narrow expanse from the hollow of her throat to the space between her breasts. Sasuke heard a small noise escape his throat, a strangled cry. And he was crossing the room, because he couldn't refuse her, not when it was something he also wanted so badly. Each footfall shed away the time and distance built up between them, laying in his wake like shed layers, so by the time he got to her he already felt naked.

He walked straight into her touch, her palm pressing against his heart, the other curling around his nape. He slipped her glasses off, let them fall, secretly hoping they’d break on the stone ground. He hated them.

In the dark, as he leaned in to kiss her, he could almost imagine they were somewhere else. In a soft bedroom, in a life they lived together, elsewhere. But he could not ignore the echoes sounding off the rock walls, the feeling of emptiness handing over their heads, the cold pressing in.

Sasuke stared up at the sky, his back to the dirt.

Around him, battle was waging. The day they’d all been waiting for, fueled with Sakura’s remaining chakra, was almost over. He didn’t know which way the tide was pulling now. He could only feel the hole in his side and know for him it was over.

When he next opened his eyes, everything was green, like he was lying on the forest floor. It wasn’t what he expected death to be like. But Sakura was there, leaning over him. He smiled, washed with relief. At least, even in this place, they had found each other. It was such a comfort, it didn’t matter to him what happened next.

He tried to sit up, and pain tore through him, though it was fading quickly. His eyelids drooped. Sakura’s hands shifted across his body, so warm.

“Can I go back to sleep?” he mumbled.

She cupped his cheek. “Yes, my love.”

He almost listened to her, but strange sounds reached his ears. Metal clashing, screaming. He cracked open his heavy eyes. A body lay close by, red staining the ground beneath. Above him, Sakura’s face was streaked with dirt and tears.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“My part is over,” she said, hands rooted to his chest like an ancient tree to the earth, unwavering and sure. “I have some left. Just enough.”

His body rippled with an electric shock. “Don’t, Sakura!”

He struggled to move, but she held him down with an iron grip.

“Just take it!” she cried. “What else would I do with it?”

It was always coming to this, he knew. But he wasn’t ready. He needed her to stay just a little longer. There was so much he still needed to tell her.

“One more day,” he begged. “You could stay just one more day.”

Her green eyes were like a storm, and as she steamed the last of her chakra into him, she didn’t look like she was dying. She looked as strong as he remembered. “If I stop now you’ll die.”

That night, when he left the village, he should have taken her with him. Taken her far, far, away. Why had he left her there? What use were his prized eyes and Uchiha blood if he couldn’t see the right choice to make?

“Don't leave,” he gasped. It was hard to see her, tears blurring his vision. “Please don't leave.”

Her hands softly slipped from his chest. “It’s okay, Sasuke-kun.” Her voice came from far away. “Just go back to sleep.”

The mark faded from her forehead like a star at dawn.

Konoha fell. The world was raw and overturned. Burning, and growing, and burning, and growing. One day, Sasuke would want to see it. For now he returned to the mountain, to Sakura’s pool.

He floated in the water, weightless, aching with the life she’d given him.

notes: a longer multi chapter is coming soon, but for now take this, and sorry

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss fic #ss #my fic #stars

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oumaheroes · 3 years

Text

Afterlife

Word Count: 2229

Names:

Alba- Scotland

Cymru- Wales

Albion- England

Ériu- Ireland

Set in the same world as ‘Wind Walk’

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‘What happens when we die?’

Alba paused, halfway through carving a gouge in a block of wood to look over at Albion where he was stood by the fire, face turned to the flames. He had his back to Alba, a roughly spun blanket draped over his shoulders which was made from thick, undyed wool that scratched but did the job. Cymru was getting the hang of making them now, able to weave in a few patterns if he had the time and the colours, but it was haphazard work and nothing fancy at all. They were sometimes able to trade for nicer ones, ones with intricate designs of knots and swirls, charms woven into the fabric to dance across borders and seams, but food was more important, usually. Things they couldn’t catch or pick from the land, like bread.

Mama had never really praised overly nice things, or stressed their importance beyond a passing aesthetic appreciation, and so none of them were too concerned that their everyday clothes were dull and shapeless. Their nicer things Alba kept in a bag at all times near his person- golden armlets and bracelets folded in the plaid of their family woven by Mama herself to show them as children of the earth, Gods amongst men. Rich colours and bold patterns that Cymru eyed with greedy wonder.

Alba saved these for when they visited their people, the scatterings of them spread across the island that bore them. He was thankful that he and his siblings didn’t really grow.

‘What do you mean?’

Albion hesitated, mouth pressing into a tight line before opening again to speak, ‘When we die. Because people…’ Albion shifted, casting a quick glance back to him before turning once again to the fire, ‘humans don’t come back, do they?’

Alba, gave up on whittling anything further and sat up straighter, left hand holding what would one day be a bowl resting on his knee, ‘No, they don’t.’

He looked about their camp from his spot on the floor, back pressed again the trunk of a large tree they’d pitched their shelter against. Despite it being night Cymru was off somewhere, away on one of his walks that sometimes took him for days and there was no telling when he’d be back. This time Alba wasn’t too sure what had caused him to need space, the air was calm and friendly amongst them all, but Cymru had grown silent and still regardless and Alba had followed him with watchful eyes until he had taken himself away, seeing him retreat to the West where he could feel him linger on the edge of his perception.

He was the one that usually had these conversations, the ones where there wasn’t a clear answer, or a kind answer. Cymru could mould the truth into something palatable, something easy to understand and swallow without it becoming a lie. These sorts of conversations were not Alba’s strength- he did not like things for which there was no answer, or no easy answer, and so either worked at them silently until there was one, or ignored it. Not all things needed to be understood or reasoned with, some things just were and it was easier in the end to accept that.

But Alba had a feeling that Albion was leading to one of those sorts of questions and he was going to have to be the one to answer it.

‘But we do come back,’ Albion continued on. He said it as a statement; the tone was unquestioning but also unsure and Alba cracked his knuckles on one hand with his thumb as he tried to read between what Albion was saying and what he might be leading up to.

‘Yes, we do.’

An unspoken ‘sometimes’ fell flat and awkward between them. Mama hadn’t come back.

Albion looked down at the ground and rolled a stone underneath his foot. He was barefoot, again, because he refused to stay in shoes for very long if he could help it, and he balanced the pebble under the ball of his foot, round and around.

‘What is it?’ Alba knew this had come out rougher than he had intended by the way Albion’s shoulders twitched, a sudden self-conscious jolt that made Alba click his tongue in regret and try again. He was still getting used to this, ‘What are you thinking about?’

Alba watch the curve of Albion’s brow furrow into a frown, light from the flames silhouetting him and making him appear older and unknown, ‘Do we turn human? When we die? Is that why Mama…’ he trailed off, no words needed.

‘No, we don’t,’ he said it confidently but really, Alba knew as much as anyone did. Which is to say, he knew nothing concrete at all. None of them truly knew what happened to Mama, although her disappearance was as sure and real to him as much as his own hand was. Mama wasn’t missing or elsewhere, she was gone. He felt it as a truth deep within him, somewhere ancient formed long before his time. No matter what Alba didn’t know, he knew this all too well, ‘we stay as we are. We fade, when our time comes.’

He could see that this reply brought more questions than it did answers and thought of a way to try and fill the gaps, ‘humans die from age or sickness, or injury. We die from other things.’

Albion turned around to face him fully, ‘Like what?’

‘By the Gods, what is it with you today? Why so many questions?’

Albion scowled and lightly kicked the pebble he was worrying away from the fire. It rolled somewhere to Alba’s left, landing by the roots of a small shrub. They both watched its progress, ‘doesn’t matter.’

Damn it. ‘Don’t be huffy, why’re you asking all of a sudden?’

Albion shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tensed under the blanket, pulling it tighter around him and huddling in on himself. He ducked his head to stare somewhere off and down, ‘You’ll laugh.’

‘No, I won’t,’ Alba was slightly offended, although it couldn’t say for sure that it was unwarranted. Maybe there had been times when he’d read his youngest brother wrong. Albion was often prickly and capricious and it was difficult to tell how he was truly feeling, hard to know whether he was hiding another truth under thorns.

Alba also wasn’t used to talking with him in such a way yet. Before Mama died, he could be a brother: tease Albion whenever he said something stupid, or fell over, or messed up. But now Alba had to be something more, had suddenly found himself thrust in a role he didn’t ask for and the shape of caregiver hung too large on him. He was trying to fill a space of parent for everyone but all he himself really wanted was for someone else to come and do it for him, for Mama to come back and fill it perfectly.

It was hard to know where to tread on a path you’ve never gone down before, especially one made by someone else.

Albion still looked unsure and as much as a large part of Alba was tempted to let it go, to take the easy option that was presented to him and move on with the evening, another, more stubborn, part wanted to prove Albion, and maybe himself, wrong, ‘I promise I won’t laugh. Now will you just spit it out?’

Albion remained staring somewhere at the ground between them, ‘what if-,’ he cut off, swallowing, ‘what if you die?’

There was a beat of silence in which a flurry of emotions coiled in Alba’s chest, ‘I will die. We all die.’

Albion pursed his lips tight together and blinked a few times in succession- too quick, ‘But I don’t- I don’t want you to.’

Alba’s throat felt thick suddenly, ‘Hey, come here.’

Albion refused to move, still studiously looking down at the ground and locked stubbornly in place, so Alba half stood to reach out and grab hold of the blanket and tug him closer. Albion stumbled at first, unwilling to allow himself to let go easily, but another tug had him near enough for Alba to wrap him in arms, falling back down into a sit with him. Once there, all pretence was dropped and Albion lifted his arms to curl them around Alba’s neck, chin coming to hook over his shoulder.

Alba shifted him to settle more comfortably on his lap, legs around his waist and blanket forgotten on the floor, and rubbed his back, holding him tight with his other arm. Albion’s hands gripped Alba’s tunic in a tight bunch, tugging it awkwardly askew around his back. They stayed there for a few moments, mostly silent and unmoving apart from the odd jolting repressed sob from Albion who still refused to give in completely.

After he’d calmed down, shaky breaths softening into regular breathing, Alba reached up to cup the back of his head and lightly ruffle his hair, ‘I’m not going anywhere any time soon.’

Albion sniffled and released one hold of Alba’s clothes to rub at his eyes, ‘How do you know?’

‘Because I do.’

Albion dropped his hand to once again grabbed hold of his tunic but looser, tugging and pulling at the fabric in a half-hearted distraction, and huffed, ‘That’s a stupid answer.’

Alba prodded him in the side, smiling when Albion twitched in surprise, ‘It’s the truth. I think Mama knew; we knew as well, didn’t we.’

Albion hmm’d, unwilling to agree. Alba knew he had noticed though, as small as he was. He had never fussed or questioned when she’d wandered away and left them, had never tried to follow her on her journeys alone. He had known, as they all had, that she was disappearing into time and a place no one could follow.

‘We are our people. We watch them and speak for them- we remember them,’ Alba shifted him and rested his cheek on the crown of Albion’s head, speaking into his hair, ‘when our people change, sometimes we can’t change with them. I think that’s what happened to Mama.’

Albion stayed silent. Alba could feel him thinking, sense him turning this over in his head to search for holes.

‘What brought this on?’ Alba tried again, gently. He felt Albion swallow against his shoulder.

‘Things feel more different now. Cymru goes away and sometimes I can’t feel where he goes. Ériu feels the most different and-‘ he paused for a moment, thinking, ‘humans feel different. Some I can’t feel them at all, I know they’re not mine now. So, I thought… what if…’

Alba raised his head and shrugged his shoulder for Albion to move off. He leant back, heavy in his lap, and Alba caught him by the chin to keep him from looking away, ‘Just because we’re growing apart now, doesn’t mean we’re going away,’ he smoothed a thumb under Albion’s eye before resting his hand on his neck, steady, ‘we’ll be different but we’ll still be here. You’ll know when it’s my time to go.’

Albion’s eyes slid to stare at Alba’s shoulder so he tapped him under the chin to get him to look back, ‘Alright? You’ll know.’

Albion gave a small nod, ‘yeah, okay.’

Alba eyed him critically, searching for anything lingering that he still wasn’t saying. Finding nothing and feeling satisfied that Albion had taken in what he’d said, Alba gave a moan and rubbed theatrically at his thighs, ‘Good, now get off- you’re heavy.’

Albion scowled, ‘No I’m not!’

‘By Gods you are, I can’t feel my legs.’

Albion shoved at his shoulder but stood, moving off to the side, ‘Maybe your legs are just weak.’

‘Maybe it’s all those raspberries you keep filching when you think I’m not looking.’

Albion coloured, ‘No it’s not!’

‘Must be, I did think you were looking rounder,’

Alba prodded Albion in the stomach and he scowled, swatting his hand away, ‘I’m not round!’

‘Well, you certainly ain’t a feather. Here,’ Alba picked up his block of wood and his carving knife and held them out to him, ‘help me work on this. It can be for you to carry the berries in rather than stuffing them in your shirt and staining everything.’

‘I don’t do that,’ Albion huffed but took the wood and tool anyway, sitting down next to him. Alba picked up the blanket and shook it out to shake off the dirt before draping it back around his shoulders.

‘Do you think I can’t tell? Stop grousing and hollow me out a hole, we can smooth it later.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Albion began to carve in the centre, widening the impressions Alba had made earlier.

Alba fished in his pocket for his hunting knife, ‘I’ll sharpen this and then go and check the rabbit traps.’

He leant behind him and around the tree for his travel bag, pulling it closer and rummaging about inside it for his whetstone.

‘Thanks.’

Albion’s voice was small and quiet- Alba probably wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t still been so alert to noise from him.

He prodded his brother on the arm with his knee and turned to carry on digging through his bag, ‘of course.’

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AN:

Another mini story that will be fleshed out for AO3 one day. Can you tell I’m procrastinating updating my other WIPs? Because I am and I am a cretin.

This is very self-indulgent with no historical accuracy or research whatsoever- please forgive me. If I go digging for historical truth, I fall into a rabbit hole and that is very difficult to peel myself out of.

Thanks for reading!

#my writing #hetalia #aph #hws #hws england #hws scotland #aph england #aph scotland #arthur kirkland #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fic #hetalia fanfic #help i am a mess for sibling relationships #hws uk bros #hws brit bros #aph brit bros

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jessilynallendilla · 4 years

Text

To get through the quarantine here’s a super long list of Hobbit/LOTR/Silm fics

Let me know if links aren’t working and feel free to add more

(check the original post as I update the list)

Please read the tags before reading some have sensitive content/are unfinished

Kili/Tauriel Centric

Stolen Heir

Who is Kili's father? He doesn't know. Thorin doesn't know. Dis knows. She's not telling. What happens when he finds out that she left and didn't tell him she was carrying his son? Alternative Ending to BOFA. Family drama!

Paths in Starlight

Kili has never set foot in the magical land he was born in, but the search for a fallen star leads him beyond the Wall and into world of Arda. The star he finds is not what he'd thought she'd be, and Kili is pulled into an adventure that takes him over hill and through the air, joins a crew of Sky Pirates to help them aid their King, and finds out the truth about his family.

Take a Bow

Tauriel has been a prisoner in Erebor since returning a gravely-wounded Kili after the battle. Now finally she is permitted to stand before the Dwarven court and tell her truth; to save her life, to show why she wants to stay.

King Under the Mountain

Or the one where Kili survives the Battle of Fives armies but has to learn to live without his brother and uncle and to accept the throne.

All Those Who Wander

Kíli goes on a simple diplomatic trip to all the elf kingdoms. Of course, because Kíli’s involved, it quickly becomes anything but simple.

Dare You to Move

Each year since their victorious alliance, the respective Kings and Councilmen of Erebor, Dale, and The Woodland Realm gathered together in one of their great cities for the duration of five days. During this time they would spend the daylight hours debating and discussing the maintenance of their alliance, and then by night the people gathered together to celebrate. In the midst of the complex political negotiations, Prince Fili learns what it means to be a great King from the one person who just might be his Queen, while Kíli and Tauriel struggle to keep their illicit relationship hidden from those who would keep them apart.

Think of all the Places We Could Go

Kili woke, panting, to have his mother fuss over him and his brother sit and sharpen his swords on the chair adjacent to his bed. “Are we dead?” were the first words out of his mouth, prompting his brother to laugh and his mother to look at him strangely.

Silver Starlight, Burning Bright

Once upon a time, there was a hidden kingdom in the woods. There are not many stories of this hidden kingdom, as they were a secret and private people. There is one story, however, about a prisoner and jailer.

Erebor Restored

The Lonely Mountain is reclaimed. Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli recover from their wounds while Dáin makes himself at home.

Land of What Might Have Been

Five years after the Battle of the Five Armies, Fili sits on the throne as he struggles to help his family and his people. Kili is lost without his love, the elf maid Tauriel who was injured before the battle and disappeared. What becomes of a dwarf who has lost the love of his life?

Flowers Among the Fallen Leaves

Bilbo Baggins returned home in mourning after the Battle of the Five Armies. All of Middle-Earth knew that Thorin and his nephews had fallen in the battle. It seemed that all that was left to him was a quiet, lonely existence in his empty smial. Then fate in the form of a pregnant Silvan Elf came knocking at his door one night. Bilbo Baggins, it seemed, had never been meant for the quiet life.

A Frank Conversation (Is Easier Said)

He always loved making Tauriel laugh. For all the time Kili spent trying to understand the woman before him, he had come to cherish the moments of simplicity. There was nothing complicated about a laugh. Smiles were trickier, but laughter—that required no translation.

Waiting

Kili hasn't kissed her yet, and Tauriel doesn't know why.

Love is Never Wrong (Together We’ll Make it Right)

With a little help from a nosey wizard, things might just work out for a prince of Erebor and a Captain of the Mirkwood guard.

Beneath the Stars

After the Battle of Five Armies and the Slaying of Smaug, King Thranduil held a feast in honor—grudging honor, but honor nonetheless—for the King Under the Mountain. Tauriel had mixed feelings about this feast because it meant that Kili would be in attendance. There was a part of Tauriel that wondered if the connection they had formed was indeed some dream.

The Lesson of the Moth

The battle is over. Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, is dead. His nephews still live, even if the life of one hangs in the balance. Tauriel too has survived, although what that means for her, she is not altogether sure. Choices are made, and promises are kept, though not without hardship. Sometimes the best course is to forge your own path, even if it takes you far from all you know.

Together Forever

Alternate ending to BOTFA. Kili and Tauriel are able to slay Bolg, but the battle leaves her badly injured. Further complication arise when King Thranduil blames the two for the death of his son and Kili is willing to lay down his own life to ensure her survival.

The Line of Durin

How do you build a new life when you're supposed to be dead? Three new royal tombs in Erebor, but two are empty. Kili, Fili, Bofur and Tauriel are on the move. Now what?

Starlight and Firemoon-Part 1

They walked in starlight, under a firemoon.

The Five Wives of Kili Durinson

The bride thought he understood. The groom thought he did too. Cultural misunderstandings abound. Now what?

So Comes Snow After Fire

In the weeks since the battle, Kili has kept his meetings with Tauriel secret. Yet when a fierce snowstorm looms, he would rather dare Thorin's displeasure than leave the exiled elf unsheltered on the mountainside. Once Tauriel enters Erebor, of course, it is only a matter of time before her feelings for the dwarven prince are discovered. And despite Kili's hope that there is a place in his life for all those he loves, he may soon have to decide whether his loyalties lie with his kindred or an elf.

Innikh Dê

In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, is there anyplace that will shelter an exhausted prince of Durin and an exiled Woodland Elf? Perhaps Lord Elrond's magical city of Imladris will offer Kili and Tauriel a haven as they prepare to have their first child. Or does the promise Kili made to his mother to return to her take precedence? In either case, Kili and Tauriel know the path won't be easy, but neither of them expected that so many Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, and Wargs, much less a wizard and a hobbit, would be on that path with them!

The Heir Apparent

Tauriel saves Kili's life during the Battle of the Five Armies and alters the course of history, forever.

Elf-Friends

After the Battle of Five Armies, Fíli is stuck running Erebor while his brother and uncle recover. However, things are somewhat mixed up with the arrival of Tauriel, banished from Mirkwood and carrying a secret. If Thorin can forgive Bilbo, though, surely he can be convinced to accept an elf?

In the Moonlight

Tauriel and Erebor

The Poison in Your Veins

She is guardian to a besieged and rotting dynasty, duty-bound and well served by her predator's instincts. He is one of Durin's Folk, hunters of renown until calamity destroyed much of the bloodline and cast the survivors from their home. Their descendents roam the land, carrying on the fight as best they can while hiding the secret that once made their kind so formidable.

A Promise Kept

He made a promise, and she returned it. But in trying to save Kíli's life, she caused his death. Or so Tauriel thinks until she returns to Erebor to throw herself on the mercy of her unborn child's only kin and discovers that sometimes love outlasts death. But can it remain unchanged by the harsh realities of life?

Spring After Winter and Sun on the Leaves

After their wedding, Tauriel and Kíli will share their most exciting adventure yet: raising a child. But blissfully happy as they are, becoming the parents of the world’s first dwelf isn’t easy. No one is certain a half-blood child is even possible, but prejudiced dwarves don’t want to let Kíli live to find out. As even darker forces take an interest in Kíli’s unusual heir, others are put danger, including Fíli and his bride, Sif. All Kíli and Tauriel want is to start a family, but they may end up having to save Erebor, too.

Marriage of Choice

Kili had always been the spare prince. Always been the Golden Heir's shadow and companion. He knew his purpose and place. After retaking Erebor, he's surprised and just how much his life changed because of it. Tauriel believed she would be captain of The Greenwood's guard for the rest of her life, expected to die in battle for her king. But she's been banished and everything has changed. Elves don't like change.

Bilbo/Thorin Centric

Finding Purchase

“What are you doing in here?” Thorin gestured around the audience-chamber as he approached, his half-smile obvious even at a distance. “I mean, my throne is yours if you want it, ghivashelê, you know that, but in the middle of the night?”

The Seven Gifts

Thorin had his crown off. This wasn’t an uncommon sight to Bilbo. Even though Fili had crafted his uncle a new crown, the weight of it still made him wary. Bilbo was not as used to seeing the dwarf’s hair gathered together in a braid that spilled over his shoulder. Or the spectacles perched on his regal nose. He would deny the ache of his heart in that moment.

Sansûkh

The battle was over, and Thorin Oakenshield awoke, naked and shivering, in the Halls of his Ancestors. The novelty of being dead fades quickly, and watching over his companions soon fills him with grief and guilt. Oddly, a faint flicker of hope arises in the form of his youngest kinsman, a Dwarf of Durin's line with bright red hair.

Battle of the Mind and the Heart

Thorin, Kili and Fili, and the others survived TBOTFA but Bilbo does not know this thinking Thorin died in his arms ...and now as the dwarves make the trek back to the shire to show their burglar that they are okay, the other hobbits of the shire have to deal with a rapidly mentally deteriorating Bilbo and the dwarves will not like what they bear witness to when they get there

Marriage of Necessity

In a desperate attempt to make sure someone he trusts rules over Erebor, Thorin marries Bilbo on what will probably be his deathbed, as well as that of his heirs. When all three Durins survive, Thorin's marriage to Bilbo comes under scrutiny. Not everyone is happy with it.

Reclaiming Erebor…Again

Bilbo is sailing to the Undying Lands but wary of letting go of the guilt that has been with him for many decade. His most sincerest wish is to go back and change what was done. Before reaching the lands of peace and healing, he dies aboard the ship and finds that his wish is being granted but not because he is the one to wish it. He finds that not only is he going to be sent back to his younger body, but so is the entire Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Time is a fickle thing and not all the members have their memories returned to them at the same time. The journey on becomes interesting as the dwarves slowly remember and fight for themselves and their kin, yet for some reason they are not the only ones to remember.

Hiding Myself

Bella Baggins is a perfectly normal, respectable Hobbit living alone in Hobbiton. That is, until Gandalf the Gray arrives at her house looking for someone to share in an adventure. When thirteen dwarves show up at her doorstep, she stupidly agrees to go with them to reclaim their homeland. Thorin Oakenshield, the moody and brooding Dwarven king, has managed to capture the unwanted affections of the Company's burglar. But one thing nobody knows is that their burglar is hiding a secret from them all that may destroy everything or change the way dwarves think for a very long time.

To Love a King

"“I never assumed that I could – that he could -,” Bilbo tried feebly. Dain leaned in close enough for Bilbo to feel his hot breath over his face. “He could never have cared for you. Was he not clear enough when he threatened to cast you to your death?” Bilbo pinched his face up in pain and clenched his hands into fists. Dain smiled triumphantly.

Buried Coals

After the Reclaiming of Erebor, life was supposed to settle down. Things were supposed to be simpler once there weren't people trying to kill them and things trying to eat them and so on and so forth. Things didn't get any simpler, but after the whole Tauriel incident, and after Dain got the snot beat out of him, things seemed to settle a bit. Billa should have known it wouldn't last.

At Last

Thorin Oakenshield has spent twenty long years alone with his broken heart, he has spent twenty long years learning to live with what he has done and what he caused, and he has spent twenty long years thinking that Bilbo hated him. But miscommunications can cause the worst heartaches of all, he finds, as Bilbo has spent twenty long years thinking that he’s dead.

Alive

Bilbo fled Erebor before his friends could be buried, before he had to see Thorin encased in stone. He returns to the Shire and settles into a life of unsociability and some amount of loneliness, but finds comfort in the figures of the children of Hobbiton. After twenty years, however, his luck is gone, and Bilbo has to flee the Shire with Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin, and with four very young Hobbits, there is only one place he can turn to.

This is a Love I Cannot Undo (Eyes Open, I Burn in Hell)

In which Kili, Fili, and Thorin survive the Battle of the Five Armies and have to deal with the fallout.

Fiercer Than Fire

The Quest of Erebor as it might have been. Billa Baggins is not your average burglar- or, perhaps, a burglar at all. That remains to be seen. Thorin resents this little female's habit of gaining a foothold wherever she lands. Even in his heart.

A Flower Among Gems

The Fell Winter destroyed Billanna (also known as Billa) Baggin's small hobbit family, as her parents were murdered and she kidnapped by orcs. However, she is saved by a familiar group of dwarves which, after deliberation (and Thorin's younger sister giving him grief) Billa joins the family of Durin. As the years pass, relationships are brought into light, and with quests thrown in, it seems a quiet life is a little hard to find for a hobbit among dwarves.

Think Before You Speak

The three fools of Durin's Line try to court their Ones. Things get crazy, hectic, emotional, and brains continuously shut off at the worst times.

Words Unanswered

The most terrible thing you can do to a writer, Bilbo is sure, is answer words with silence.

Together Once More

Thinking himself banished, Bilbo leaves Erebor before he and Thorin can reconcile. Meanwhile, the entire company thinks that Bilbo died in bofta. 20 years later, Bilbo, now the guardian of Frodo Baggins, is asked by Gandalf to travel to rivendell to discuss a growing evil that is encompassing Middle Earth. However, the two hobbits mysteriously vanish, and never make it to rivendell as they were supposed to. And somehow, to make matters even more confusing, Gandalf comes to the realization that Bilbo Baggin's has the One Ring.

Hurricanes in Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire

Bilbo was banished. That's it, the end. She wants nothing more to do with dwarves. Now all she needs to do is get back home, but there may be some complications along the way.

Eastern Homecomings

After an unprecedented Goblin attack on the Shire, Bilbo finds himself whisked back to Erebor with his son he never wanted Thorin to know about.

A Most Sensible Idea

Bilbo Baggins isn't sure about this. Not one bit. Frodo is definitely too young to enter into an arranged marriage with a dwarven king called Thorin Oakenshield. It's a good thing that Bilbo is there to chaperone him through their courtship. After all, there's no chance that a fussy hobbit bachelor would ever catch the eye of a king.

You Got Me

The Company shows their affection for Bilbo in accordance with dwarvish tradition. Bilbo... has no idea why everyone keeps giving him gifts.

The Most Precious of Treasures

Bilbo is thought to have died during the Battle of the Five Armies, but in reality she has returned home to Shire, believing that she is forever banished from her friends sides and that they are far better off believing that she is indeed dead. However, her plans to remain dead to them are complicated by the most precious treasure a certain Dwarf King left her with and by a few friends who simply refuse to believe that she had truly gone from Middle-Earth. Bilbo believed that her journey was done, she had gone there and had come back, her story was finished, she had no idea that she had just walk headlong into another.

A Second Chance

The Valar send Bilbo back in time, to the day where Gandalf asks him to join in an adventure. After living a lifetime of regret and suffering, he vows to change things for the better. For Thorin. For Frodo. But will he succeed?

Retelling the Hobbit

This is a comic adaptation/retelling of the Hobbit! It's framed as a bedtime story that Bilbo is telling a younger Frodo.

A Passion for Mushrooms

There are many trials for a hobbit attempting to make a life among dwarves. A hobbit wants a garden. A hobbit wants to eat regular meals. A hobbit wants friends, good books, and comfortable chairs. Bilbo does his best to carve out a little hobbit life for himself in the mountain. If only there were not one final obstacle. For a hobbit heart wants love, and among dwarves that is a sticky subject.

Something Blue

Thorin marries Bilbo after the Battle of Five Armies, a marriage of convenience, not love. Slowly, they must come to make the best of it, Bilbo resolves. After all, he's a Hobbit. They make the best of things.

Azhâr

Following the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies where Thorin must fight with his own guilt and mind over his choices and what they mean and meant, where he must decide whether or not to rule, and how to live with himself after dying. Focusing on many different characters and relationships, as well as building on the lore of Erebor and Middle Earth. A story about coming home.

An Expected Journey

For years Bilbo has written about his adventures and told stories about his dealings with dwarves and dragons. To most it seemed like fanciful nonsense but to Bilbo it was all very real. A weight followed him home from his travels, one called regret. Now in his final moments Bilbo has a choice to make – go quietly into death’s embrace or go back again and face all the fear and pain for the chance to make things right?

Lay Down Your Sweet and Weary Head

Thorin dies. Thorin wakes up. He is understandably confused by this, especially since he appears to be in the Erebor he knew as a young dwarf, about to be attacked by a dragon.

Call You Home

In which the Company are entirely too nosy about matters that are supposed to be a secret, and Bilbo learns that being concerned about propriety is overrated when you could be making friends instead.

Courting Habits of the Line of Durin

Hobbits didn’t have such things as courting rituals – they were uncomplicated folk. They announced their affections with flowers or a cooked meal, a shared pipe or simply a kiss – and then there were meetings with both families and a date set for the wedding. Dwarves, as he kept discovering, were a completely different kettle of fish.

The Road Delivered Us Home

In the years since Bilbo left Erebor, he has lost his respectability, gained a nephew, and gotten on with life at Bag End. He'd left aside adventure for the comforts and peace of his little Hobbit hole, and for the love of a child who needed him. Though perhaps, adventures can yet find him.

Intertwine

“To let someone else braid you is an intimacy. Brothers often do it for one another, or parents in our youth, or lovers when we are of age. I have none of these.” Thorin pulled a silver bead from the pouch and rolled it between his fingers, and his gaze on Bilbo held weight

Fix That Which Was Broken

When Mahal himself offers to send Thorin back to the start of the quest to save the line of Durin, he is determined to make amends for all of the mistakes he made the first time around. When Bilbo wakes up in Bag End eighty years in the past, all he knows is that he has somehow been given the chance to see his beloved dwarves again and he'll be damned if he doesn't take it.

Tears of the Sun

Based on a prompt where Frodo is Thorin and Bilbo's son and no one knows.

Reading in Autumn Sunlight

Summer was over. The lingering warmth from those long, languorous days were steadily replaced with opaline skies and bracing winds which brought with them the threat of the first frosts of winter to Erebor.

Portrait

Three years to the day following the beginning of the Quest for Erebor, Bilbo was asked to pose for an official portrait.

The World Spins Madly On

The end of the journey to retake Erebor is harrowing. As Bilbo Baggins surveys the wreckage of what was once a group of the best friends he ever had, he wonders if it was all worth it. And then he wakes up. And wakes up. And wakes up.

How Shall This Day End?

Thorin Oakenshield dies. And then returns to himself in Erebor, staring down at a gold-covered floor. He doesn't quite understand what is happening at first, but soon realizes he has been granted an incredible chance (and a terrible burden): to relive the battle again until he finally gets things right.

Though the Stars Walk Backward

Bilbo wakes, always in Erebor, with dark shadows to one side and the first light of a terrible dawn to the other.

Many Paths

Bilbo wakes up in Dale. With the memory of a battle won but lives lost, he finds an army of Men and Elves readying to attack Erebor. Bilbo tries to save his dwarves. Again and again.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

Courtship Works Best When Both Parties Are Aware of It

The halls of Erebor flourished under the reign of Thorin Oakenshield. His coronation was a welcoming ceremony to celebrate the final wave of refugees returning to the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo, the hobbit under the mountain, is concerned with the amount of time the weary King under the Mountain is spending with a simple hobbit. Thorin is worried Bilbo is spurning his courtship. Suddenly all the dwarves are concerned for Bilbo's happiness in Erebor. These two idiots need to learn to communicate.

Run! Glorfindel Saw Us!

Bilbo Baggins was raised by elves in Rivendell. Thorin is not impressed. At all

The Rampart

When Thorin realized what Bilbo had done, realized that the hobbit had traded his Arkenstone, he saw fire. And Bilbo, being so incredibly small, was easy enough to throw from the Rampart. The company leaves Erebor, seemingly forever. 10 years after Thorin 'killed' Bilbo, he breaks from his dragon sickness, sick at what he's done. He runs to the Shire, hell-bent on paying his respects to his burglar, ashamed at killing him over a stone. But what will Thorin find in Hobbiton?

An Unexpected Addition

All of the dwarves survive the Battle of the Five Armies, but Bilbo must return to the Shire to sort out his old life and make way for a new one in Erebor. Over one year later, Bilbo comes back to the Lonely Mountain with a recently orphaned Frodo. King Thorin isn't quite sure what to make of this new, tiny addition to his Company.

Heartbeat of the Mountain

Bilbo adjusts to caring for a nephew and realizes that the Shire holds no future for him anymore. It is time to return to the mountain. With Frodo in tow, he sets off to find out if Thorin regrets his decisions and to discover if the mountain can handle not one, not two, but three troublemakers.

The Took’s Arrangement

Shortly after Bilbo Baggins comes of age, he is swept up into a life he never expected. Upon the promise made between his grandfather and the dwarrow of Ered Luin, he sets off to marry the crown prince of Erebor, Thorin. Arranged marriages are not ideal, but he is a Baggins, and Bagginses keep promises, while his adventurous Took blood sends him running down the road to Erebor.

Beware the Nice Ones

Five years after becoming Consort Under the Mountain, Bilbo is struggling to prove his worth to Thorin's most xenophobic subjects and foreign kinsmen. However, when visiting nobles mistake Bilbo and Frodo for common servants, Thorin is not pleased and Bilbo has had enough. Political intrigue, cultural misunderstandings, and a trial of honor ensue...

The Greatest Treasure in Erebor

It takes roughly two months of being taken on a different walking tour of The Splendors of Erebor every single day for Bilbo to work out that Thorin and Company are trying to convince him not to leave.

Our Lives to Make

Bilbo must venture the long road back to the Shire to see his newborn nephew, leaving Thorin to rule over Erebor. But when word reaches him mid-travel that Frodo has been orphaned, he knows he cannot go back to the Lonely Mountain alone. What will Thorin say when Bilbo returns with his nephew in tow, when he’s lost his own kin so recently?

An Unexpected Son

Bilbo left Erebor with a treasure more precious then gold or rings. What happens when the dwarves discover Frodo? Will Thorin bend enough to admit he was wrong to force Bilbo to leave?

lay down your sweet and weary head

Thorin dies. Thorin wakes up. He is understandably confused by this, especially since he appears to be in the Erebor he knew as a young dwarf, about to be attacked by a dragon. A time-travel fic with Thorin as the one living his life twice

The Shire's Sacrifice

When the Shire cannot honour its Treaty with Erebor, the dwarves enforce a contractual clause: one Hobbit must be sent to Erebor to marry the King as a sign of good faith. But with neither party at all willing and plans afoot to undermine the King, maybe an unwilling Bilbo Baggins is exactly what Erebor needs…

Gimli/Legolas Centric

Comes Around Again

Gimli closes his eyes, an old Dwarf on the brink of death in the home he had built with his husband in the Undying Lands, and opens them again as a young Dwarf in his childhood home in Ered Luin. He's returned to the tumultuous week before The Company set out to recruit their Burglar from his cosy hobbit hole. Gimli, once again a impetuous teen in the eyes of his family, must get into that Company--the lives of his loved ones, and the very fate of Middle Earth--depends on it.

Heart of the Mountain

For three hundred years they've been under attack. It's become background noise now but Gimli can't help but wonder why. Why in Mahal's name are the elves still attacking them after all this time? Surely they have something better to do?

Hearts Will As Hearts Must

The Dwarves are returning to Erebor reclaimed, and the elves uphold their promise to safeguard the caravans as they pass through Mirkwood. One particular Dwarf has wit and spark enough to match Legolas Greenleaf - perhaps even outmatch him. It's hate at first sight.

Cultural Differences: If Thou Kiss Not Me

Legolas and Gimli fall for each other, hard. But culture shock causes some problems when Gimli realizes that Dwarves and Elves don’t share certain customs.

Forged in Frame

A very contrived take on the Professor!Gimli and Influencer!Legolas AU, in which they’re still somewhat reluctantly trying to save the planet because Aragorn asked them to.

Secrets of the Lonely Mountain

Legolas is sent to Erebor after the War of the Ring, where he's given the chance to meet up with Gimli again.

we raise our cups

Legolas determined he would have to cut through the Woods of Oromë. If all went well, it should be a straight shot to what Celebrimbor had labelled as the Mansions of Aulë. Perhaps, were he a wiser elf, he would first seek the guidance of Mandos – because after all, he was still alive, and Gimli was still dead. But Legolas was, at the end of all things, not a very wise elf. He was simply an elf with a fiddle and a bow, who was deeply in love. And he had to hope that would be enough.

Terroir

"Terroir - the characteristic taste and flavor imparted to a wine by the environment in which it is produced." It's almost the tourist season in the wine country, and Greenwood Cellars is gearing up for its busiest time of year. The new Blue Mountain Public House threatens to disrupt decades of tradition - this is wine country, after all. Aragorn is running for County Sheriff on a platform of community policing - but he's running against his boss. Eowyn feels trapped in the family business, and thinks the handsome young motorcycle cop is her ticket out. And Gandalf is selling his fireworks, like he always has, even though there's no way they should be legal. The story of a town, and the people who want to make it better, and what happens in one tourist season.

Building

A city, a marriage, a world. Legolas and Gimli return to Minas Tirith with their people to help Aragorn rebuild his city, and learn how to be together in a new world of peace.

The Wild Hunt

Vampire Legolas vs. Slayer Gimli

What Song Can Fell the Mountain

Valinor has been their home for a century and a half when, scant days after his four-hundred-and-twelfth birthday, Gimli says, "I will soon die. What are we going to do about it?"

Lest We Burden Our Weary Hearts

If one must call them ‘missed chances’, then do so warmly, for even in the distance of space and years there is no shortage of affection here. Each other’s dearest companion, indeed.

Homespun

Modern Lasgalen bears some little resemblances to canon Mirkwood. Gimli encounters one of them in the bathtub one morning.

Going Viral

When a dangerous new virus spreads rapidly through Middle-earth, Gondor goes quickly into lockdown. Legolas and Gimli weather the pandemic together as best they can.

Rebuild Your Seawall (Brick by Brick)

For weeks and months, Legolas has felt a pull - and dares not name it, does not heed its stormy-sky warnings, does not track the ebb and flow on the shoreline of his life. Here’s the thing about the tide, though: it rises whether one wills it or not.

M&M and E&E2

A Gold Star in his Crown

The Silmarils have been stolen. So has Elrond, on the very same night, and the only trace left of those who took them is a note in Maglor's handwriting. Years later, after Elros has gone after his brother and never returned, Gil-Galad goes to reclaim his young kinsmen from their second captivity in Faerie.

The Ransom of the House of Fëanor

Maglor goes to war for a final time, the eternal darkness looms, and Elrond bargains with the Valar for the ransom of the House of Fëanor. In which fathers give up everything for their sons, and their sons offer everything in return; title, name, and fëa. Or, the one where Maglor believes he is destined for eternal darkness, and Elrond politely says otherwise.

To Safety

Elrond and Elros, after yet another horrible day of being hostages for their mother's Silmaril, awaken in an unfamiliar forest where the sunlight doesn't seem quite right, and somehow run right back into the arms of their captors. Maitimo and Makalaurë have no idea who these children are, but it seems like they're supposed to raise them. It's more difficult than it sounds, because somehow they don't speak Quenya. In other words, the twins time travel to Valinor in the Years of the Trees and proceed to be parented against their will.

Low Water

Elrond is gifted with foresight. Elrond has seen how this chapter ends.

New Strings

Maglor is rescued, now to fit him into life in Imladris.

And Love Repaid

It was never about owing.

Protector

It began with the Second Age. Or actually, it did not begin at all. It simply did not end. Against all odds, Maedhros and Maglor survive. For Elrond, that is a beginning of sorts.

Lessons Learned

It all begins with Maglor wanting to give the young Peredhels he and his brother captured a some sense of normalcy in their lives. He gave them over to Erestor so that they might learn simple things, how to read and write. He hardly expected to find his own relationship with the twins to develop, and Maedhros expected it even less...

Unwell

It's not that they're not happy that Maglor's been brought back to the Undying Lands. It's just that they're a little concerned about the fact that he's been taken into the house of someone he once kidnapped, and that no one's seen Maglor since.

Russandol

The attack on Sirion

After Sirion

After the Third Kinslaying, two pairs of brothers struggle to repair their broken families.

Songbird

Caught up in his grief over his twin brother’s death, Elrond hears rumours of his foster-father’s whereabouts. With only Erestor as his companion, the half-elf leaves Lindon to find Maglor. But at the end of their journey they must all face the question of what to do when the elf who was never meant to return to elven settlement is actually found.

Barriers

On the way back to Amon Ereb, Maedhros and Maglor carried not a jewel, but two small boys instead.

Always There

A young Elladan and Elrohir return from playing by the sea with a strange tale that sends their father on a mad chase.

Sons of Eärendil

Elros, King of Numenor, reminisces to his absent brother. Talking through memories of the terrors of their childhood and the things that drove them apart as adults.

As Little Might Be Thought

From the Sacking of Sirion to Amon Ereb; from princes to captives to sons. The story of the unlikely bond between Elrond and Elros and Maglor and Maedhros.

Pieces of Stars

When the Oath brings disaster to Sirion, Maglor attempts to fix what he can, but a temporary arrangement becomes much more permanent than anyone had foreseen. Elrond and Elros grow up, grow together, and grow apart at the end of a world slowly decaying into myth and legend.

The Lines on My Face, the Lines on My Hands

Nearly eighty years after Celebrían left Middle Earth to seek healing, the people of Imladris have yet to quite move on. But when a simple task of 'make sure the road is clear' ends in the Elladan and Elrohir bringing home a seriously injured and sorely missed elf, the entire household is forced to re-examine just what they are to each other, and to themselves.

The Starlit Sky

Elrond's account of his boyhood with the Fëanorians

Jailbird

There is singing from the southeast tower of the citadel. There is always singing from the southeast tower of the citadel. For over three thousand years someone has lived in that tower and sung, and today Faramir wants to know why.

I Beg a Deep and Dreamless Sleep

An alternate version of my fic "Give the Children Closure" Maedhros is unsurprised by Elrond coming to let him out of the Halls, though he knows he won't actually be leaving. This is a kinder hallucination than most. Again I will stress that everything is going to be okay, he just has to be sad first.

Lords of Amon Ereb

Maedhros and Maglor have stolen the Silmarils and disappeared. Beleriand is sinking. Finarfin, Gil-Galad, and all the people moving east pay a visit to Amon Ereb, assuming that the Sons of Fëanor returned there. Instead, they find Elrond and Elros.

With Eyes of Nightingales

Finarfin wants to know what happened to Elrond and Elros. Against their better judgement, Círdan and Gil-Galad go with him. What they find is a terrifying forest, a fortress that defies geometry, and a pair of twins with bright eyes.

Nightmare Sequence

A series of dreams and nightmares that everyone sincerely hopes are not prophetic, mostly taking place in the early days of Elrond and Elros's time as hostages. (aka things that were too messed up or too out of character that I really wanted to write)

plus ça change

Elrond has had many homes and many families, in the Ages of Middle-Earth. He has lost them all. Or, a character study, from toddler in Sirion to Lord of Rivendell.

Softly Sing the Children

Elrond and Elros are unsettling children. All the children in their family are.

Childhood Memories

Sometimes the waves of war wash strange things to the shore. Perhaps Maglor senses what it means for him when he finds Elwing's twin sons Elrond and Elros abandoned in the forest. He does not take them with him to Ossiriand as his prisoners of war, but rather takes on the role of a foster father for them. Little by little, the little Half-elves learn that he means them no harm, and gradually they begin to love him as their father.

And Family Means No One Gets Left Behind

Earendil returns home to find it burned to the ground and his sons missing, presumed captured by the Feanorians. He does the logical thing. He goes after them. He's not entirely expecting what he finds when he gets there.

MISC

Tears Like Rain

The first in the epic Mellon Chronicles. Mirkwood has suffered tragic losses in the Last Great Alliance, including her King. With the very survival of the kingdom at stake, Thranduil finds himself at deadly odds with his older brother Doriflen. When young Legolas becomes a pawn in his abusive uncle’s ruthless power games, the lies, deception and betrayal risk destroying more than just the young prince’s life.

Golden Light

They have loved each other for so long that when Finwë grieves, Ingwë grieves with him, but he also tries his best to comfort him.

No Other Choice

“Your word means nothing,” she spits at him, baring her teeth, nearly shaking with anger as sudden as a cataclysm. The sea roars behind her, cold droplets spraying up and flecking her bare legs. “I do not barter with murderers.” The Fëanorians descend upon the Havens of Sirion to retrieve the Silmaril. Elwing makes an impossible choice.

All Our Old Follies, Come 'Round Again

Celebrimbor sees Elrond again after a long separation. It isn't a good thing, at first. But then Celebrían meets Elrond for the first time under... unexpected circumstances.

The Siege of Khazad-dum

Rescued from Sauron by Celebrían, Celebrimbor and Elrond fled with her to the great dwarf-kingdom and stronghold where Durin is king. Celebrimbor, badly injured in body and spirit, is impatient. Galadriel and Durin oppose the might of Sauron to the utmost. And in Lindon, Gil-galad is unwilling to wait. This is a direct sequel to All Our Old Follies, Come 'Round Again

Songs of the Heart

It's not that Earendil isn't glad that the kinslayers are in custody. It's just that he's not entirely happy that the place they're currently in custody at is his ship.

Letters to a Daughter

After arriving in Valinor, Elrond writes down his thoughts and experiences in letters addressed to his now mortal daughter.

Songs of Shadows, Songs of Blood

There are shadows in the forests of Beleriand. Some of them have teeth.

More than the Stars Above

Elrond had lived without his parents for this long. He could certainly continue to do so if they proved to be indifferent. That didn't stop his hand from shaking when he reached out to knock on the door.

Watcher in the Woods

"The creature has been with us for many weeks, and Balan caved to its wish to learn. He has been teaching it our language, our politics, our culture. Our very way of life. Wherever we go, it is there. Watching. Always watching." Something does not bode well with this golden stranger in our camp, and yet, there is nothing to be done about it. I can only watch, and pray that what I fear does not come to pass. And it will.

Suitable Foster

"“Children?” Felagund sounded uncharacteristically distressed." Bëor strongly discourages his friend from adopting.

Beor and the Faerie King

The humans have their own story of how they met the Faërie King, what they gained and one they lost. The story of Finrod and Balan later named Bëor, as told by an old woman in a mountain cabin.

Little Boy Lost and Crying

I feel like the house of finwe just found a confused, crying, and lost little boy in the woods one day and decided to keep him and call him gil-galad and thats why his parentage is so confusing because everyone claimed he was theirs

Scion of Kings

Gil-galad struggles to write a letter to the man he thinks (hopes) might be his father. Or, in which we are all Gil-galad, failing to start an email.

Foundlings

The untold story of what happened to Dior's sons during and after the sack of Menegroth.

Twin Troubles

When Celegorm ends up in the Halls, he finds himself reluctantly playing guardian to a pair of lost twins.

Forget Me Not

It’s a marriage of convenience, a way to forever strengthen the bond between the Dwarves of Erebor and the people of Dale. Or so Sigrid tells herself.

Too Much Truth

Legolas accompanies Tilda to Erebor to visit her sister. It is his father’s wish that he does so. Legolas does not understand the new world he finds there.

Work for Idle Hands

King Bard carries so many worries, especially now his council want his eldest daughter Sigrid betrothed in a way to best benefit Dale. Sigrid carries her own worries and is determined to cut back her Da’s. There’s a trade agreement between Erebor and Dale; Sigrid and Fili begin using it.

My Lady Dis

On her way to Erebor following the deaths of her family, Princess Dís receives some unexpected news from King Thranduil, and an offer to make Mirkwood her home. King Thranduil can't abide Dwarves, but the more time he spends with Erebor's last princess, the more he begins questioning his long held convictions.

We Were Legends: Book I - Champion's Dawn

In the First Age of the world, House of Elmo supports the King and Queen of Doriath in ruling their Kingdom. Princes of Doriath hold on to it as well - they found themselves in different roles to support their Kingdom, but beside their duty, they still hold deep loyalty and love towards each other despite grudges from the past and poorly made decisions. Will their loyalty linger through all the Ages to come?

The Burned Prince

After the sacking of Doriath, the lands once girdled by Melian were abandoned. Faerbraichon, Lord of House Brethil, went east in search of a new land for his Sindar Elves, a land far removed from the grief caused by the Silmaril Thingol had coveted. With him came his family - those who were left - and those for whom he was Lord.

Extraordinary

The first time he saw her, when he climbed out of her toilet and into her father’s home, he barely even registered her presence – he was too preoccupied with his mission and his brother’s injury, so he wrote her off simply as a perfectly ordinary human girl. But then he started observing her – and Mahal, she was the most extraordinary creature he had ever laid eyes upon.

A Favorable Arrangement

Fili and Sigrid agree to an arranged marriage, and quickly learn that mountains and lakes ally more quickly than people.

Episodes from Middle Earth

Collection of one-shots

Fear and Family (Or, the One Where Kíli Is the Sensible One)

After the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo isn't sure of his welcome in the mountain, and thus returns to the Shire as soon as he can. Somewhat to his surprise, Ori goes with him -- but it turns out Ori has his own reasons for leaving Erebor behind. Well, Bilbo's quite used to being the talk of the Shire.

Solace

The tale of Thranduil and his wife from the beginning of their journey to the downfall of their tragedy.

Seduction to Destruction

Before the awakening of the elves there was the rise of the Valaraukar. As the Valar attempt to keep and contain their Maiar from succumbing to Melkor’s might, they fail to realize that it only takes one to destroy their efforts from within. The fall of Almaren will be detailed with Mairon and his relationships with others as the central plot points. Eventual Angbang because that was why I started writing this thing in the first place.

Bury My Sins Down By the Sea

Wandering along the seashore singing an unceasing lament for what his people had become and what they had done was supposed to be the last line for Maglor, son of Fëanor. When he accidentally trespasses on Avarin territory, they take him briefly hostage in order to ensure that he will lead no war parties to them. Among their people, thrust headfirst into a culture completely alien to him, Maglor learns quickly exactly how different they are. Despite all their differences, he still finds kinship with Denethor of the Laiquendi, and the comfort of a connection helps him open his heart again at long last.

Adopted of the Khîtikweni

Maglor has been avoiding others since he flung the Silmaril into the sea. Some, he finds, are more stubborn than he is.

Mortal Cold

Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, and Aragorn are in the mountains during a terrible cold autumn storm and the sons of Elrond reluctantly stay with some of the Avari after Legolas' insistence and the severity of the storm.

Secret Hope

Nerdanel is, she suspects, among the last to receive word - the ships are coming home. The Elves are returning at last. She knows she will likely be disappointed. But she can't help but hope.

Vegetarian

Whenever anyone asks Erestor how he ended up in Rivendell, he defers to Glorfindel.

My Father’s Eyes

They are terrible and cruel; warm and loving. I see my father trough his ever-changing eyes, and they tell me his truths if I read them wisely. But sometimes I fear i will never get to know everything there is to know about them. They are like the grey sky before it rains, like the universe itself or the forest when it rains. They speak to me if I listen closely. And I do listen.

The Prisoner of Dol Guldur

Thranduil makes a terrible discovery after the fall of Dol Guldur

The Web of Darkness

An experiment of the Witch-King backfires, big time, and the Elves of Mirkwood find an unexpected ally.

Hungry Eye, Ancient Soul

"In this Fifth Age of Middle Earth, there are many stories about the romantic past of the earlier ages. Ancient stories of love and adventure, and those who inhabited these lands alongside us mortals. The terrifying reality of these stories is often ignored, and I will bring them to light, remaining anonymous lest these beings find me for revealing the truth." It is the Fifth Age of Middle Earth, and the Elves have fallen into legend; legend twisted into tales of deceit, Fae magic, disappearances, and betrayal.

The Unseen Fate

Namo once said, "There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity..." so basically, he said that the House of Feanor will abide in the Halls of Mandos and remain dispossessed for ever. However, it would seem that Eru has another fate in mind. A story where the House of Miriel has found their place in the world. They meet new friends along the way and grievances are forgiven. Finally, a happy ending for the House of Miriel.

Consequences

"She is her father's daughter. He was never really a father at all." Elwing and Eärendil remember their children.

The Wanderer (Maglor's story)

The silmarillion as told from Maglor's perspective. Some implied Russingon and a whole bunch of vala/elf relationships.

A Meeting In Valinor

After the War of the Ring, Sauron returns as a prisoner to Valinor and, much to the incredulity of his self-appointed guard Eönwë, encounters a hobbit.

Casting Out The Serpent

Balan-who-will-be-Bëor comes to some conclusions about his new friend after said new friend demonstrates a terrifying knowledge of venomous snakes. In conclusion, Finarfin was a reptile hoarder and also elves might be poisonous.

The Fourth Hall

Where do the orcs go when they die?

green are the leaves (i leave in mirkwood)

"A choice sits upon his head, pressing down past his elven bones and into his very fae. He must choose either to turn back to the stifling safety of the King's Halls, or venture on into a world that will not offer favours nor protection to an Elf as young and inexperienced as he." OR: Legolas learns what it means to chase freedom, choose, sacrifice and find family even in the darkest of hours.

A Feast of Ashes

Now High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth, Fingolfin decides to host a feast to reunite the free people of Beleriand, the Noldor, and his own family. What he did not expect is to be reunited with dead relatives, spies from Angband, dark secrets from Cuivienen, and a fair share of angst

An Unexpected Exchange

Bilbo always knew there was something off about his nephew. He didn't fit in amongst the hobbits. And when a stranger shows up on his doorstep claiming that the boy is not his nephew at all, things get a bit... complicated.

Should A Star Fall, The Sky Won't Go Black

The stars are sacred to all of the eldar, but for some, they may have a little bit more meaning. Or: Elurín has a nightmare that leaves him lost and confused, and Maedhros helps guide him back onto his path with the help of the night sky.

Two Stars in Time

While undergoing a hunting test, Elurín and Eluréd have a strange setback and wake up under the Two Trees. Lost in a land of old, there is only one person whom they can think of to search for: Adar Maedhros.

In Elin Gelebrin

After the Second Kinslaying, Maedhros searches for two young children and succeeds in finding them. Here are some small moments of their time together.

An Untold Tale

Injured, afraid, and freezing in the forests of Doriath, Elurín manages to tap into an inheritance from Melian he never realised was there. In his desperation, he uses it, and he and his brother vanish from history. Three thousand years later, a patrol of Imladris finds two strange boys in the woods.

What if Elrond Had Pushed Isildur into the Fires of Mt. Doom? Theory

The One Ring and it’s survival by the hands of Isildur gave rise to Sauron and the War of the Ring in the Lord of the Rings, but what if Elrond had pushed Isildur into the fires of Mount Doom, bringing an end to the One Ring altogether?

#fic rec #the hobbit #lotr #bagginshield #gigolas #kiliel #the silmarillion #long post

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justanotherpersonsuniverse · 3 years

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Game Master Akuma AU by crisisdparity

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players. Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he’d greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively. Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item’s stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia. Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug. Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt’s history with characters dying) and he’d even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt’s usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with. Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history. He’d put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He’d carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign. In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he’d made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one. Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn’t need it anymore. —– It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app. Matt/Chat - Chat’s going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily. Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I’d advise, but it’s your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now. Matt/Chat - <photo> 17 Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone’s passive Perception easily. You’ll sneak off handily without anyone noticing. —– “Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple.” “Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?” Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt. “19.” “Okay, difficult, but not undoable… Crap.” “What’d you get?” “Nat 1…” “Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!” “Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!” “Because it’s payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish

campaigns!” “Oh, come on! You’re not the only person whose had a character die at this table! <GM> runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they’re always fair!” “What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?” “Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp.” “14!” “Not much better, dude.” “Guys, it’s fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-” “Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece.” “The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound.” “So does Carapace.” “Vesperia too.” “-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you’re all using the Dash action?, you’ve got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they’re all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this.” “Rena screams ‘What the HELL, Chat?! We’re supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn’t you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!’” “Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!” There was dead silence at the table. “Matt… What… just… WHAT?!” “Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?!” “What the hell is your problem, Matt?!” “My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I’ve spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!” “Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!” “I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY’RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!” “THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!” “NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN’T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I’M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!” “MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!” “Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time…” “It’s going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least.” Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour. He’d given so much to making sure this would work. He’d apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He’d agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he’d pull something like this. He’d nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else’s. They’d somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They’d meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening. It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he’d slaved over for months was kaput. He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it. “Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things.” This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he’d ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel. “Not

enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts.” He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he’d spent so much time on to life… What creator could ever turn down an offer like that? “I, the Game Master, accept… Hawkmoth.” “Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders.” “No.” Hawkmoth was silent for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” “I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself.” “If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you.” “No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me.” And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence. —– Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn’t remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn’t usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo. Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her. She looked up. And up. To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her. “How’s the weather down there?” Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique. “I WILL END YOU!” the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up. Characters: Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew) Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast) —– Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope. She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn’t for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she’d have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings. Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she’d have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her. “You know, people are staring…” she said as she craned her head to look at her companions. “Let them,” the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. “They’re just jealous because their boyfriends can’t carry them everywhere.” Characters: Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout) Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour) Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) —– Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin. She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she? And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor? Characters: Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party) Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew) —– Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she’d freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she’d come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she’d gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable. It might help more if she could figure out where she was. Or find another person. Characters: Polymouse - Kobold

(rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned) —– Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance. “Are you quite done?” “Almost!” Pigella’s cheerful voice answered. “Your fur is so comfy!” Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels. “I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen’ I will stick you in a bottle.” “Aw, I love you too! Hey, what’s that?” “I think it’s my character sheet?” Characters: Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory) Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned) —– “According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules,” Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. “I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master.” “Aweshum,” King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk’s robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him. “Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water.” “Gotta keep up appearanshes!” King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness. Characters: Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned) King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master) —– Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he’d never felt before. “Hmm… perhaps I can work with this…” “Speak for yourself…” Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face. Characters: Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others. Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters —– “Oh, come on!” A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. “Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can’t I join them?” “Because you’re too OP. You’d completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure.” “But sitting around is no fun at all!” “If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger.” “That’s it?! I’m on 'mysterious hooded figure’ duty? Boo! Why can’t I fight with them?!” “Because you’re too OP. But if you insist, I’ll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions.” “YES!” “Five.” “I’m sorry?” “I’ll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information.” “That’s it?” “Yes. Choose your interventions wisely.” “So… if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle…?” “Then I would allow you to join them of course.” “Score!” Characters: Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5) Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign —– Addendum When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it’s basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back. All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt’s place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he

has a similar playstyle to Matt, he’s savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians. They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

—-

oh wow- that’s- wow. good job dude, seems like you worked on this a lot. Next time You should post this on your own account though, as this isn’t getting tagged or anything. Thank you though, you did a good job with this.

#submission

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themurphyzone · 3 years

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BatB AU: A Provincial Life

Summary: It’s an ordinary day in ACME Village for Pinky. Until it isn’t.

AN: This oneshot adapts the opening number ‘Belle’ and village scenes, up until Pinky sets off for the castle in search of his father, which leads into the entry Imprisoned.

AO3 Link

Pinky scooped a ladleful of oatmeal into a small, earthen bowl, humming dreamily as he added a dash of cinnamon and several apple slices into the mixture.

Today was a very special day for Papa, and Pinky wanted him to eat a healthy and nutritious meal before he went off to the fair with his invention. It would be a few days of travel, and Papa would need his strength for traveling there and back.

“Papa, I’m going out!” Pinky called as he carefully pushed a large woven basket of acorns outside. “Your breakfast is on the table, so make sure you eat it all!”

There was a sputter and cough of machinery and a trail of smoke from the small room that served as a makeshift workshop next to the kitchen, followed by a loud bang.

“Just getting ‘er warmed up for the final test!” Papa shouted. “C’mon, Madeleine! You may’ve fallen apart for the 264th time, but you can do it!”

Oh, Pinky had no doubt people were gonna love the woodcutting, ax-wielding, only occasionally threatening to take fingers off machine known as Madeleine. She was definitely gonna win that gorgeous blue ribbon at the fair! And even if she didn’t, they’d love her all the same anyway.

He opened the door and stepped into the beautiful autumn morning, taking in the cool, fresh air as he carefully maneuvered the basket of acorns into a red wagon. The leaves were varying hues of crimson and gold, dancing along a gentle breeze that ruffled Pinky’s fur. The sun was peeking over the horizon, slowly bathing the world in light as it rose.

Two songbirds flew merrily above him, their sweet morning song filling the air with beautiful music. Pinky reached up, and one of the songbirds briefly landed on his outstretched hand before flying after his partner, leaving a red feather behind.

“Thanks for the feather!” Pinky shouted to the sky as he tucked the feather behind his ear, where it fit perfectly.

He picked up the wagon handle and pulled it along, the wheels squeaking along behind him.

In the meadow beside their quaint little cottage, Pharfignewton chewed placidly on dew-covered grass. She neighed a greeting to Pinky, and Pinky cheerfully waved back. As much as he loved taking the beloved family horse into town for company, she needed her strength to lug Papa, Madeleine, and all their supplies later. So he had to let her rest.

Reeds and wildflowers of all sorts grew along the banks of the pond that separated the little cottage from the rest of ACME Village. A pair of ducks paddled along in the water, trailed by four adorable, fluffy yellow ducklings. Several tiny turtles sunbathed on an old log, while a large green frog sat on its lily pad and caught insects unlucky enough to stray in the path of a long, sticky tongue.

Pinky took his time crossing the cobblestone bridge over the pond, watching the wild animals go about their day without hustling, bustling, or rushing from place to place. Their lives were very different from their neighbors, despite living so close together.

Little animals, little pond, and little humans in their little town.

Or was everything just bigger than him? He was a mouse after all. It wasn’t hard to be bigger than a mouse, unless one happened to be an insect.

As Pinky crossed onto the other side, he spotted a smooth, pretty gray stone poking out of the reeds. He plucked it out of the damp soil, cleaning the dirt off with the inside of his apron.

It would be a perfect stone for his collection. And he didn’t have any that were this smooth. Most of the rocks he picked up were half-crushed or broken from city streets or well-worn paths. He tucked it into a pocket that he’d sewn on himself, because for some odd reason dresses never came with pockets.

Then he faced the little town, with all its timber and stone buildings lining a narrow cobbled street that quickly filled with half-asleep, half-awake people trying to get an early start on their sales and trades.

To think he and Papa had lived here for three years. While not the most exciting town in the world, Pinky was just happy they didn’t have to move again. He’d spent too much of his life being bustled from place to place since Mama died. The cottage was the loveliest place they’d ever owned.

And while the townsfolk had the same ol’ familiar routine every day, Pinky tried to vary his activities. From baking to horseback riding to volunteering for odd jobs around town, or just taking a day off to nap under a tree and roll down the hilly meadows while grass stains formed on his back.

Just a normal provincial life, yet Pinky often wondered what laid in the big blue yonder. Did the stars and sky look different elsewhere? Do the clouds form big, fluffy, and silly shapes in South America?

“Bonjour!” a man called out as he threw open his shutters.

“Good morning, Emile!” Pinky replied as he skipped past his window.

“Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!” The echoing chant swept across rooftops and streets alike as a new day dawned upon ACME Village.

Everyone from chimney sweepers to merchants to coachmen responded with vigor and cheer, all of them satisfied with their occupations in life.

Pinky greeted everyone he passed, though not all returned the gesture. Everyone was staring at the feather tucked behind his ear, the bulge of the stone in his pocket, or the red wagon with the basket he pulled along. He didn’t think he was that strange-looking.

Unless he had a bit of cabbage stuck in his teeth again. But he flossed really well last night, so he didn’t think that was the case.

“Marie, hurry up with the baguettes!” the baker shouted as he carried several loaves of bread outside.

Pinky inhaled deeply. There was nothing quite like the scent and sound of fresh bread.

“Narrrrrrf! Smells just like heaven, Mr. Baker!” Pinky exclaimed.

The baker set his tray of bread on a windowsill, tapping his foot as he impatiently waited for Marie. “Morning, Pinky. You off somewhere this morning?” he asked, though he didn’t turn around.

“Yup! I’m delivering this basket of acorns to Slappy!” Pinky said, pointing to his basket of acorns. “She really likes the acorns near our cottage but doesn’t wanna make the trip herself. She says it’s too far for her aching joints and she can’t take Skippy along because she’s still trying to convince him that we’re not gonna be shot like Bumbie’s mom if we venture into the meadow, and-”

“Yes, yes, that’s all very nice,” the baker said, half-leaning into the open window. “Marie, I said hurry up with the baguettes! The morning rush is coming soon!”

“Well, if you’d bought the ingredients from Francois instead of Vincent like I suggested then maybe we wouldn’t be running behind, Pierre! But no, you always act like you know best!” Marie snapped.

Not wanting to get embroiled in yet another argument between the baker and his wife, Pinky followed the cobblestone path further into town, where the usual market sprung up, full of local farmers, tradesmen, and merchants.

Villagers bartered and argued and traded like always, and as Pinky stopped to admire a small yellow daisy poking out from the cracks of the street, he could feel eyes follow him closely in that looking-at-you-but-pretending-we’re-not sort of way.

“There goes the funny mouse again.”

“Gets distracted by the littlest things, I swear.”

“Does he even have a useful skill?”

“Besides being the village idiot? Doubtful.”

They’d made those comments ever since he and Papa had moved in. Everywhere they went, people asked Pinky for his trade, and Pinky always told them he took care of Papa and worked various odd jobs around the area for money.

But that wasn’t considered a useful role in society.

He didn’t mind helping Papa though.

Oh well though. He couldn’t delay getting these acorns to Slappy, so he hauled his wagon alongside a horse-drawn carriage that steadily cut through the crowded streets, clearing Pinky’s path.

“Bonjour!” the coachman called to a young woman walking down the street. His eyes were trained on the girl rather than the road, and his horse plowed straight into a farmer’s cart, knocking his produce into the road.

“MY CABBAGES!” the farmer screamed, tearing out his hair as several pigs devoured his vegetables.

The coachman let out a nervous laugh and flicked the reins, spurring his horse forward and blithely ignoring the despairing farmer’s demands for compensation.

“I need six eggs!” a woman cried as she tried to hold several fussing babies at once.

“That’s too expensive!” a man complained to someone selling pottery. “Twenty coins for a pile of cheap clay? Bah!”

Pinky and the carriage parted ways as the cobblestone street changed to an unpaved dirt path. The gossip and chatter of ACME Village faded to background noise.

Slappy had made her home in a hollow tree on the outskirts of town, close enough to get supplies but far enough to deter most from knocking on her door.

Pinky passed by many warning and danger signs that kept most people from bothering the old squirrel. There was a new post up today, right next to Slappy’s front door.

LAST WARNING

NO SELLING, NO PREACHING, NO TAX COLLECTING

KNOCK AT YOUR OWN RISK

Well, what was life without a little risk? Pinky knocked on the door anyway.

He was trying to decide if one of the clouds overhead was shaped more like a monkey or a strawberry when a small brown squirrel in a blue nightgown and cap opened the door. Despite the early morning, he was wide awake and hopping in place, his excitement only growing as he spotted the basket of acorns behind Pinky.

“Morning, Skippy! Got the basket of acorns your aunt wanted!” Pinky exclaimed.

Skippy grinned as he took the basket from the wagon. “Thanks, Pinky! Aunt Slappy will love these!”

He popped a few acorns into his mouth and loudly crunched the shells.

“Skippy, what’d I say about answering the door at this godforsaken hour in the morning?” a cranky voice yelled from upstairs.

“It’s just Pinky with the acorns, Aunt Slappy! No door to door salespeople, preachers, or tax collectors in sight!” Skippy shouted. Then he turned back to Pinky and pointed to his ear. “I like your feather, by the way.”

“Thanks! I like your nightcap!” Pinky said, returning the compliment with his own.

A few moments later, Slappy joined Pinky and Skippy downstairs. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her long gray tail dragging behind her.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Slappy asked. She tossed several acorns into her mouth and nodded her approval. “Crunchy with a pinch of salt. This is gonna be a good topping for my world-renowned creamed spinach later.”

“SPEEWWWWWWWWW!” Skippy cried, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

Pinky just smiled politely. Slappy took a lot of pride in her creamed spinach recipe, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying it tasted like soggy socks.

“Hey, when I was your age, I ate lots of creamed spinach for dinner. And now I have enough muscles to wield a hundred ton mallet,” Slappy retorted.

“Wow! Was that when dinosaurs roamed the earth?” Skippy asked.

Slappy gave him a light smack on the back of his head. “Little brat. Go grab a few coins from the bureau in my room. Gotta pay the mouse for lugging this stuff across town.”

Skippy blew a raspberry at her and ran up the stairs.

“Your tongue is never gonna go back in your mouth if you keep doing that!” Slappy yelled.

Funny how the Squirrels were his best neighbors, even though they lived on the opposite side of town. They’d helped out so much when Pinky and Papa first moved into the countryside cottage, from showing them all the best places to buy from and all the best trees to climb. Everyone else usually stared at them strangely for not knowing how to find a shop and moved on with their day.

Still, Pinky didn’t want to impose on them or anything. Collecting the acorns was no trouble at all. And he knew money could be a little tight in the village at times.

“You don’t have to pay me,” Pinky said. “Poit. I don’t mind the morning exercise.”

“You’re walkin’ outta here with those coins whether you like it or not,” Slappy said in a tone that invited no room for argument. “Don’t be one of ‘em honor before reason types. That sorta mindset is nothing but trouble.”

Slappy’s long tail flicked in irritation, accidentally knocking a framed painting askew on the wall next to her. She sighed and fixed the crooked painting so that it hung straight. “Can never keep this darn thing straight,’ she muttered.

Pinky had been inside the hollow tree many times, but he’d never seen this painting before. It contained a colorful cast of characters, from a carrot-munching gray rabbit to a crazy black duck to a short gunslinger with an enormous bright red mustache.

In the painting, a youthful Slappy with a manic grin on her face and giant firecracker in her hand was chasing a bald hunter. Her smile was brighter, and her eyes didn’t seem so world-weary there.

“Like it? Old pals sent it to me two weeks ago,” Slappy asked, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “The Looney Tunes Troupe were a rascally bunch, that’s for sure. All the money for a detailed painting, and they can’t afford a better frame. Our shows were legendary back in the day, you know.”

“Never heard of them,” Pinky admitted.

“Course ya haven’t,” Slappy sighed. “Your generation doesn’t know good comedy when it hits them in the bum with a mallet. Troupe’s faded into obscurity now, but they’ve never stopped traveling and being annoying yet lovable nuisances to everyone from Albuquerque to Kalamazoo to Timbuktu.”

Pinky tilted his head. “But you don’t travel anymore.”

If the Squirrels needed something they couldn’t get in ACME Village, they usually asked Pinky to run the errand for them.

“Yeah, well, that’s life,” Slappy said. “Sometimes you’re a nomad with total freedom and other times you gotta flee with your nephew to a different country.”

Before Pinky could ask more questions, Skippy barreled downstairs with as many coins as he could carry. “I didn’t know how much to grab so I just took a handful,” Skippy said, dumping the currency onto a small side table.

Slappy picked up six coins from the pile and dropped them into a small drawstring bag, then tightened the strings and tossed the bag into Pinky’s wagon. “You can have these. I’ve got plenty more lying around,” she said.

“If you're sure then,” Pinky said, picking up his wagon handle and turning it around. “Love to stay, but Papa’s leaving for the fair soon and I gotta see him off!”

“Tell him we said hi!” Skippy shouted, and Pinky saluted back.

Slappy yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “And I’m hitting the hay again. It’s too damn early, and I’m too tired to censor my swearing in front of kids.”

o-o-o-o-o

After his visit to Slappy’s tree, Pinky decided to kill some time at ACME Village’s fountain, where he could enjoy the fine spray of water and run in circles along the stone rim. It was always fun seeing how fast he could go without tipping into the water.

“Sorry!” he shouted as he accidentally trod over freshly washed sheets that a woman had been folding next to the fountain. She made an indignant noise and carried her basket of laundry away, nose high in the air.

And the whispers started up again.

“That mouse may be a beauty, but he is way too peculiar for his own good.”

“You have to wonder if he’s feeling well.”

“Always a dreamy, far-off look on his face.”

On his tenth lap around the fountain, a flock of sheep strolled by, guided by a young shepherd from behind. Two fluffy ewes jumped onto the fountain rim next to Pinky and drank the water. Pinky smiled and stroked their soft wool, and the ewes bleated in contentment.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Pinky whispered into their ears. “Don’t go blabbing this to anyone now...but I believe Papa’s a shoo-in for that blue ribbon!”

One of the ewes turned and nibbled on his ear, and Pinky laughed as her blocky teeth tugged and tickled his fur. He gently pried her jaw open and his ear popped out of her mouth, dripping wet with sheep saliva.

As Pinky prepared to slide off the fountain rim and onto the small bag of money he’d gotten from Slappy, a regal fanfare went off in the distance, thundering hoofbeats growing ever closer.

A messenger in a white powdered wig blew his coronet and cleared his throat.

“HEAR YE! HEAR YE! MAKE WAY FOR HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, PRINCE SNOWBALL AND HIS HUNTING PARTY!”

The messenger’s declaration sent every man, woman, and child running towards the plaza, gathering in front of the entrance of the local tavern, the centerpoint of all social activities in ACME Village.

The hunting party rode in on their enormous horses, spearheaded by the ruler of the province, Prince Snowball. Though only a small hamster, he was famed by all for his keen mind and ability to get results on whatever he set out to accomplish.

Though dressed in only a simple red shirt and breeches for hunting, the only signs of his higher status being the golden crown upon his head and the expensive black horse he rode, his presence commanded respect and awe.

Behind him, a hunting party consisting of the best huntsmen and archers in the land dragged an enormous buck, two wild boars, and several pheasants into view.

“People of ACME Village, tonight we shall dine on these fine specimens of the animal kingdom!” Snowball announced as everyone bowed in fear of a noble’s anger. “Everyone’s presence is required, for I have a further declaration that shall lift this derelict province out of the ashes and into a glorious future!”

His pink eyes were sharp, but beneath that layer of intelligence, there was an undertone of something that didn’t feel right. Pinky couldn’t explain it, but he always just had this odd, icky feeling that crawled up his spine whenever he saw Snowball.

The crowd straightened up, cheering and clapping and praising Prince Snowball’s name for bringing them such good fortune with the promise of more to come.

Pinky’s ear twitched. There was a soft, desperate sound mixed in with the roars of the captivated audience.

And to the left side of the crowd, there was a tiny lamb whose back leg was tangled in a large fishing net. The mother ewe was both nuzzling the lamb in comfort and trying to pull the net off with her teeth, but to no avail.

The shepherd never noticed his sheep were in trouble, too caught up in hailing Prince Snowball to notice one of his charges was stuck.

Pinky hopped off the fountain and slowly walked over to the thrashing lamb and his mother, putting his hands up to show them he wasn’t a threat. The lamb bleated in panic, and the mother eyed Pinky warily.

“May I help? I’m good at untangling stuff,” Pinky asked. He’d gotten a lot of practice when Papa occasionally tangled himself up in threads and wires.

The ewe regarded him for a long moment, then nuzzled the back of her lamb’s head, letting him bury his head into her wool. The lamb’s trembling stopped, his back leg still.

It was a sweet gesture, one that seemed so familiar to him, even though his own mother had long passed. He remembered that feeling of warmth and safety from so long ago, the last time he felt like he was truly home.

Wiping a stray tear from his eye, Pinky untangled the mesh from the lamb’s leg, starting from the top and slowly moving down to the hoof.

“There you go, baby,” Pinky said once the leg was completely free. The lamb pulled his hoof out of the netting, gave it a good shake, then joyfully pranced and bleated around his mother and Pinky.

The mother gave Pinky a tiny nod, bleated to her little one, and together they rejoined their flock. The shepherd was still ignoring his flock in favor of Prince Snowball. Pinky couldn’t see him anymore from the ground.

Pinky picked up his wagon handle, ready to go home and help Papa hitch everything up to Pharfignewton.

Then he felt a pair of fingers pluck the feather he’d lovingly tucked behind his ear. Pinky turned to get his feather back, and jumped when Snowball was just inches from his face.

“Hello, Pinky,” Snowball said. He smiled, but it was more out of smugness than a real smile.

Pinky’s ears lowered, but then he remembered his manners. “Bonjour, Prince Snowball. May I have my feather please? A really nice bird gave that to me.”

Snowball frowned, holding the feather out of Pinky’s reach. The feather crinkled in his tight grip. “How could you possibly need this? It’s hardly good quality for even the cheapest quills.”

“Poit. It doesn’t need to be a quill to make me happy,” Pinky replied.

Snowball rolled his eyes, tossing the feather behind him. Pinky tried to grab it, but it was caught on a gust of wind and drifted to the ground. It landed in a mud puddle, soaking the barbs of the feather and staining it brown.

“Pinky, get your head out of the clouds and pay attention to important matters,” Snowball’s lip curled as he blocked Pinky from retrieving his feather. “Such as showing royals courtesy when they address a peasant like you.”

“Excuse me, Snowball,” Pinky said politely, going around the hamster to pick up his feather. The damage didn’t look too bad. Still, he tried to be careful when he cleaned it with his apron.

Snowball crossed his arms, and the town’s whispers started up again.

How dare he not show proper respect to Snowball, does he fancy himself higher than a prince, why would Snowball pay him any individual attention and not someone more deserving.

“That’s Prince Snowball to you.” Snowball’s fur bristled for a moment, but he took a deep breath and put his arms around Pinky’s shoulders instead. “The whole town's talking about you and your lack of...purpose. And we can’t have that, you realize. After all, a machine requires all of its cogs and gears to run smoothly, otherwise it won’t work.”

“Bet his crackpot father would know something about that!” one of Snowball’s men chortled.

Everyone laughed, even Snowball, who rarely did so. An unfamiliar feeling boiled in Pinky’s stomach.

“Don’t talk about my father that way!” Pinky snapped. His inventions were amazing and he was going to do well at the fair! They didn’t know how hard Papa worked on his inventions!

Snowball glared at his men. “Yes, don’t talk about his father that way, you fools!” he hissed like Pinky hadn’t heard him laughing just seconds ago.

“He’s not a crackpot! His invention’s gonna win the blue ribbon cause it was made with smarts and love, you’ll see!” Pinky declared, just as an explosion went off in the distance.

And he knew exactly where that explosion had come from.

“I have to go. Goodbye!” Pinky dragged his wagon behind him, setting off for the cottage he and Papa called home.

“It’s a pity and a sin,

He doesn’t quite fit in.

He really is a funny mouse,

A beauty but a funny mouse,

He really is a funny mouse,

THAT PIN-”

The sharp, high-pitched crack of a rifle interrupted the village’s song, and everyone ran for cover.

“WILL YA SHUT UP? SOME OF US ARE TRYIN’ TA SLEEP!” Slappy shouted from her tree, her screech blowing tiles and lumber from the roofs of buildings.

Just a provincial life in this little town. Pinky ran across the cobblestone bridge, wondering if he truly had the right to ask for something more than that.

o-o-o-o-o

He hurried over to the cellar, where smoke trailed from the gaps of the heavy wooden doors. Pinky opened the entrance, and a smoky cloud blew right in his face. He coughed and waved it away, hiding his nose in his dress as he hurried over to Papa, who’d been thrown onto his back. A pile of broken wooden planks covered him.

In the corner, Madeleine sputtered, her gears and dials spinning wildly before she finally quieted down, one loose spring sending a gear crashing into a wall.

“Dagnabbit, Madeleine!” Papa cursed, stumbling as he extracted himself from the pile of wooden planks. Pinky grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet, checking him over for any injuries. Luckily, there were no bruises or splinters to be found. “Don’t you stall out on me now!”

Pinky smiled. Papa’s string of random gibberish and mutterings of smart inventor words he couldn’t understand was something he’d been familiar with from a young age. No matter where they lived, it was just one of those things that came with home.

Papa huffed, untying his apron with all his tools and tossing it to the ground. “She’ll never work in time for the fair! What was I thinking?” he lamented. “It’s not too late. Maybe I can cobble something else together quickly! Yes, I’ll just take the doowhatzit out of Madeleine, combine it with the kaleidomajiggy from the old washer, and-”

“You always say that, Papa,” Pinky said, hugging his father around the shoulders. Papa rested his hands over Pinky’s with a sigh. “Don’t worry. I believe Madeleine will work, and she’ll win you that blue ribbon and help you become an inventor for the history books! Narf! Just like Benjamin Franklin, ‘cept without all the kite-flying.”

“You really think so?” Papa asked, his frown turning to a hopeful smile.

“Course I do,” Pinky grinned.

A determined look crossed Papa’s face, and he tied his apron around his waist, nearly tripping over it in the process.

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s fix ‘er up!” Papa said, laying down on a flat, low cart and pushing himself under the broken stove that made up Madeleine’s main body. “So how was your morning in town?”

“A little birdie gave me a feather. I found a pretty stone by the pond. And I delivered the acorns to the Squirrels. Did you know Slappy used to be a part of a traveling troupe? I didn’t.” Pinky recanted his morning to Papa as tools clinked and scratched against metal. “Oh, and I guess you’ll be missing Prince Snowball’s feast tonight. They’ll have venison and wild boar there.”

“A feast? That sounds nice. Much better than inn food,” Papa mused. As usual, only part of what Pinky said ever registered with him. “Are you going?”

“I don’t know yet,” Pinky admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good party...but Prince Snowball is-um, what’s a good word for him?”

“Rich? Smart? Confident?” Papa suggested. “He’s been talkin’ to you a lot lately.”

So everyone’s noticed, even Papa who spent much of his time in the cellar that doubled as a workshop.

“He has,” Pinky agreed. “And he says he can give me a purpose. But...I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for me. Maybe I’m just as odd as they say I am.”

It was the same everywhere they settled. No matter what Pinky tried to do, the whispers always followed him. He noticed strange things, he wore strange clothes, he and Papa were always strangers in towns where everyone knew each other from birth.

Papa slid out from under Madeleine, wearing a silly helmet on his head that gave him huge, bug-like eyes.

“My son is odd?” Papa asked in disbelief, and Pinky laughed. The helmet always made Papa look silly. “Don’t know where these folks get their ideas from…anyway, I think Madeleine’s all ready to go. Care to give her a whirl?”

“Zort! Am I!” Pinky clapped his hands together. Papa pointed to a lever, which Pinky pulled with all his might.

Madeleine’s bells and whistles sounded, water steadily pumping through her system while steam filled her stove. Pulleys and gears turned along her sides, reaching the front. Her dials quivered until they reached the red zone, and the ax at her front swung down, scoring a deep cut in a block of firewood. The ax swung faster and faster, until one final split the firewood in half and sent one chunk flying.

Pinky and Papa ducked, and the chunk flew over their heads and landed perfectly on a pile of firewood against the wall.

“She works!” Pinky shouted in joy, kissing one of Madeleine’s wooden wheels. “You did it, Papa!”

“I did?” Papa murmured. “I did! 265th time’s the charm, Pinky! Look out fair, I’m on my way!”

o-o-o-o-o

Within the hour, Madeleine was wheeled out from the workshop, covered and tied up with a tarp, and hitched to Pharfignewton.

“Bye, Fig,” Pinky said, hugging his beloved horse’s muzzle. “Keep Papa on track to the fair, okay? You know how he likes taking shortcuts.”

Pharfignewton whinnied gently, planting a sloppy kiss on top of Pinky’s head.

Then Pinky embraced Papa, who returned the hug with the same enthusiasm. And he was reminded of how the mouse and horse he considered his home would be leaving for some time. He wished he could go with them, but someone had to keep house and he was the best one for the job. It wouldn’t be for long, but he’d miss them all the same.

A stray tear dropped. Just another reason he was considered odd. He cried so easily.

“Chin up, Pinky,” Papa murmured, rubbing a soothing circle into Pinky’s back. “I’ll win that blue ribbon along with the prize money, and we’ll begin our lives anew within the week.”

Through his tears, Pinky gave him a wobbly smile. Then he helped Papa onto Pharfignewton’s back.

“Take care!” Pinky called as Papa flicked the reins, and Pharfignewton trotted off at a steady pace, dragging Madeleine behind her. He watched them from atop the highest hill in the meadow, as they went further down the well-worn trail that merchants used for their travels.

Then they were nothing but specks in the distance, swallowed by the thick, twisted branches of the forest. It was an unusual forest, one where the trees lost their leaves in early autumn, making the trees look scarier than they actually were for half the year.

With nothing else to do outside, Pinky went back into the empty cottage. He’d had three years to become familiar with this house, full of odds and ends from Papa’s inventions alongside their meager belongings.

Mama’s cloak hung from a place of honor on a coat rack by the door, one of the few belongings Pinky could take along no matter where they lived.

Hours passed, and Pinky already missed the banging and exploding and sputtering of Papa’s inventions. It was just too quiet without them.

He cleaned the red feather and pretty stone, then added them to his collection. Feathers and rocks didn’t take up a lot of room, and like Mama’s cloak, they could easily be taken to new places as well. He was just very careful not to lose them.

The wagon was tucked away by the door, and the small bag of money was tucked inside a flower pot. It was how Papa always stored money, and Pinky had picked up the habit.

There wasn’t much to do. He’d cleaned the cottage several days ago, cellar notwithstanding. That was Papa’s territory, and he always had trouble finding tools when Pinky put them away.

Suppertime approached.

He could either cook dinner or go to the feast.

Didn’t matter what he chose. He would be lonely either way.

A sharp rap on the door startled him out of his thoughts. How strange. People only knocked at this time when there was an emergency.

“Sorry for taking so long. I wasn’t expecting-” Pinky opened the door, and he immediately stood face-to-face with Prince Snowball. They were so close that their noses nearly touched. “-to see you here, Snowball. Um, this is a surprise. Poit.”

Snowball’s pink eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Pinky remembered that Snowball preferred to be addressed with his full title. “Yes, it’s not often that someone of my standing chooses to grace a peasant’s home with their presence.”

Behind Snowball, there was an entourage of townsfolk. Many wore their Sunday best, which was still quite cheap compared to the royal finery that Snowball bore. A fine red coat, a decorative golden cape slung over one shoulder, and white dress pants. A shiny crown embedded with rubies and emeralds sat atop his head.

“I thought you were all at the tavern for the feast,” Pinky admitted.

Snowball laughed, but it was a joyless laugh. He stepped across the threshold without being invited in.

“Why, Pinky. Your hovel is positively primeval,” Snowball said, wrinkling his nose in disdain. He tugged Mama’s cloak off its hook, stared at it for a moment, then carelessly tossed it behind him. “If this is how you live, then it’s a truly auspicious time for me to come and offer you an opportunity out of this squalor.”

Before Pinky could ask what auspicious was, though he figured it had something to do with Austria, Snowball harshly dug his fingers into Pinky’s shoulders. Pinky tried to pry them off, but the fingers just burrowed further into the fabric of his dress.

“Not to worry, dear Pinky,” Snowball said. “Today is the day all your dreams come true.”

“You mean my dream to find a home and a porpoise? Because I don’t know if we have enough money to live by the ocean. Beachside properties get very pricey, you know,” Pinky asked.

Snowball waved off that concern. “You forget that finances are of no consequence for me. But I digress. For now, allow me to plant the image of a wonderful future in your vacant mind.”

“Okay, but I don’t know how you’re gonna water it,” Pinky said.

“Picture this,” Snowball demanded, leading Pinky around the cottage. “A magnificent castle. Two golden thrones, mine higher than the queen’s of course. A few summer homes to expand my sphere of influence. A court of other royals, lesser nobles, while the servants do all the menial work around the fires and kitchen. We’ll have...oh, six or seven.”

“Servants?” Pinky grinned nervously as Snowball leaned in with a chuckle.

“Castles, Pinky. How else would I showcase my power?” Snowball corrected. “And the townsfolk shall become our servants. It will save me the trouble of setting up a hiring process anyway. Besides, you’d appreciate having familiar faces around. Less of an adjustment period.”

Pinky freed himself from Snowball’s grip. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Snowball shrugged. “But in simplest terms, I require a queen. One who is good at smiling, waving, and entertainment.”

Wouldn’t that person become a princess rather than a queen though?

Snowball must’ve seen the question coming. He paused in front of the mirror to adjust his crown.

“There is but one title higher than a prince, Pinky,” Snowball said once he was finished. “In order to qualify for the kingship, it’s required of me to marry first. And do you know who that queen will be?”

“Elizabeth? Victoria?” Pinky wilted under Snowball’s intense stare. “Um...Cleopatra, final answer?”

Snowball shook his head. “It will be you, Pinky.”

A queen? He’d always just been the inventor’s son. An outcast no matter where he lived. How could he possibly be a queen?

“That’s a very generous offer, Snowball,” Pinky said, once he finally found his words again.

“Isn’t it, though?” Snowball said smugly. “You and your father will live in an extravagant new home as you perform your queenly duties, and I will be forever hailed as King Snowball. Both of us shall benefit.”

Maybe he and Papa could live in better conditions. Maybe they didn’t have to move around anymore. Maybe they could afford shoes for Pharfignewton. But at the same time…it wouldn’t be right.

It wouldn’t be home.

Smiling, waving, entertaining. Was that all he was good for? Was that all Snowball thought he could do?

“I thought...marriage was for love,” Pinky said softly. “That’s what Papa always said.”

Snowball rolled his eyes. “It’s a political marriage. It doesn’t have to be built on love.”

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

It was one of the earliest morals Pinky had learned.

Wish for a home, only for it to be a castle. Wish for a purpose, and it’s to be married without love as a foundation.

“Snowball...I’m speechless,” Pinky said, backing out the front door. He nearly tripped over the welcome mat, but regained his footing. “I...I really don’t know what to say.”

Not even a narf would help him out of this situation.

“Say that you’ll marry me, Pinky,” Snowball replied, and he stalked toward Pinky like a cunning predator, backing him against the edge of the porch. “And after you say yes, I will announce our engagement to the rest of ACME Village at the feast. Attendance is mandatory for a reason.”

“I’m really, really sorry, Snowball,” Pinky said. He’d backed up too far, and the heels of his feet dangled precariously over the edge. Instincts kicking in, Pinky grabbed Snowball’s shoulder to pull himself to safety, though he underestimated his strength. Snowball yelped as he was pulled over the edge, falling into the mud puddle by the staircase.

Oops.

“Sorry, Snowball! But I just don’t deserve you,” Pinky admitted.

The mud-covered crown slipped around Snowball’s head, covering his eyes until he took it off with an annoyed grunt.

Pinky slipped back into the house, grabbed a small towel, and handed it to one of Snowball’s men.

Claude, if he remembered right.

“He can have that one,” Pinky told Claude, who gingerly took the towel like it was a fragile item.

Snowball crawled out of the mud, his royal clothing covered in gunk and sticks. He stomped out of the mud, hands clenching against his sides.

Snowball’s brow lowered, his pink eyes hidden in humiliation and a quiet, seething fury.

Slowly, Pinky retreated into the cottage and hid behind the door. There was something about that look that terrified him. And it wasn’t the fun kind of fear, either.

“You will consider my offer, Pinky. Make no mistake about that,” Snowball spat, his scrutinizing gaze directly on Pinky, despite the door between them. “Claude, quit being daft and hand me that towel already!”

Pinky waited in the cottage until he could no longer hear their voices or footsteps. They must’ve gone back to the tavern for the feast.

He didn’t feel hungry though. Snowball’s proposal left a sour taste in his mouth, like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

“He asked me to marry him,” Pinky said to his mother’s cloak, which was still crumpled on the floor. He gently picked it up, brushed off the wrinkles, and put it on. The fabric was warm against his back, like being wrapped in a ginormous embrace. “But he doesn’t love me. Narf! You can’t have a marriage without love!”

He thought of all the married couples he knew in ACME Village. The baker couple, who were constantly at each other’s throats. Gerard the butcher was always making googly eyes at any woman who bought cuts of meat, much to his wife’s frustration. There was the stressed lady who had to drag her six kids around town while her husband played cards and darts at the tavern.

And Pinky thought of his parents. His mother had fallen in love with his father’s inventive streak when she was the daughter of a town official and Papa was just the crazy mouse whose inventions blew up a lot.

He tied the cloak tighter around himself. Unable to take the silence of the cottage and the stifling influence of the village much longer, he allowed his feet to carry him out of the cottage and to wherever they wanted to go.

He sprinted into the unknown. He wouldn’t be afraid of whatever he found there. The autumn wind blew golden, red, and brown leaves in whichever direction it wished as Pinky climbed the highest hill in the gorgeous flower-filled meadow.

The peak of the hill was his favorite spot, and he was surprised that nobody else came out here to enjoy the view with him. Trees lost their colorful leaves so they could sleep for the winter, the river splashed and babbled along its banks, and proud mountains with mysterious cloud-covered peaks rose high above the landscape.

What laid beyond villages and towns, he didn’t know.

There was something in that great wide somewhere for him. Just a feeling, an inkling, a hunch.

But could he truly go exploring it when his home was here?

Maybe he could convince Papa. Somehow. When Papa came back with the prize money, they could fit Pharfignewton with her shoes and they could all explore together!

Staring into the autumn landscape, Pinky sank to his knees, careful not to squish the daisies and dandelions around him.

Maybe that was home, but…

He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. Would he ever figure that out?

He loved Papa, but he couldn’t really talk to him. And Slappy had her hands full with such an energetic nephew. Pinky didn’t want to impose. Everyone in the village gossiped about him, like he couldn’t understand.

But he did.

And it hurt.

“Would be nice to talk to someone. Anyone, really,” he whispered, and he blew on a cluster of dandelion puffs. His wish scattered along the wind.

Pinky picked up more dandelion puffs. If he blew more around, maybe his wish would come true. And dandelion flowers were very pretty.

Maybe they were considered weeds, but how could anyone call such a sunshine-y yellow flower a pest? He didn’t get it.

Then a distant, familiar neigh caught him off-guard.

Pinky thumped his hand against his ear. Maybe he was missing Pharfignewton so much that he heard her voice?

But he’d recognize her magnificent white coat and spirited blue eyes anywhere.

“Easy, Pharfignewton! It’s okay!” Pinky cried. He scrambled up Pharfignewton’s leg, avoided her flailing hoof, and held onto her muzzle as she bucked and reared in sheer panic. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay…”

Pharfignewton quieted down, her frantic neighs melting into soft, worried nickers as Pinky stroked her nose. She stopped kicking, though she was wide-eyed with fear.

Madeleine wasn’t hitched to Pharfignewton. Nor was she wasn’t the only one missing…

And Pinky suddenly understood his horse’s panic.

“Pharfignewton, where’s Papa?” Pinky asked. “Is he okay? How did you get separated? Did he try another shortcut when I told him not to do it?”

Pharfignewton’s hooves shuffled, and Pinky forced himself to take a deep breath. He was scaring her with all these questions, so he nuzzled her between the eyes in apology. Still, his heart raced with panic.

From the top of the hill, he saw thick, gray clouds rolling in from the mountains. The temperature was dropping fast.

An early winter would be upon them. They had to find Papa quickly.

“Please, Pharfignewton. We’ve gotta find him,” Pinky pleaded.

She whinnied in agreement, and galloped into the strange forest with all its dangerous, twisted branches before Pinky had a chance to settle in his usual spot at the base of her neck.

Don’t worry, Papa. I’m on my way.

End AN: Well, this is beast is complete (no pun intended).

Yeah, poor Pinky’s usual charm doesn’t really work here. Poor mouse.

Slappy is fun to write, not gonna lie. Love her cartoony antics. She’s also led quite the interesting life in this AU.

The reason Snowball didn’t show up sooner was because I wasn’t sure how to tweak the proposal scene to fit. Cause for one thing, Snowball is way smarter than Gaston, but just as arrogant to boot. So I changed Snowball’s motivation into marrying Pinky because it will help him gain a higher title than a prince. He doesn’t actually love Pinky in this AU, but he’s very annoyed at him for that stunt with the mud puddle (though it’s accidental on Pinky’s part rather than intentional like Belle’s).

The reason Snowball doesn’t go seeking a princess’s hand to gain the kingship is cause he tried that already. It was Billie of a nearby kingdom. It didn’t go well.

Also yes the village is named ACME Village because I’m lazy and can’t come up with anything better.

#pinky and the brain #patb snowball #beauty and the beast au #patb fanfiction

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castleshadows · 3 years

Text

For As Long As We Could

Casteel has spent the last seven years inside, afraid of stepping out into the world once again. But, when Elashya dies, he finally decides to face his fears to support Kieran in his grief.

CW: Major Character Death

Written June 17, 2021

Casteel watched as the funeral procession made its way past his window, the sky outside trying its best to match the mood with gloomy white clouds that promised a drizzle later in the day. Similarly, the small crowd was cloaked in white, the color of mourning. Only the dead’s closest family and partners wore anything decorative, a small white lily pinned to the breast to represent the innocence restored to the soul of the departed.

He could pick out Kieran easily in the gathering, holding the back right corner of the casket. To anyone else he looked like he had his head tucked against the wind as everyone else did, but Casteel knew him better than that. No, his friend was crying, judging on the way his shoulders shook every couple seconds. It was a surprise to see him so vulnerable in front of that many people, but Cas didn’t judge him for it. In fact, it was a relief to see him finally show some semblance of emotion. The wolven had been so… stoic the past few days. Elashya had been the first bright light in his life in a long time, and that light had gone out so quickly, that it had left Kieran in a state of disrepair so great that he sought to hide it from everyone around him. Including his bonded.

The wind picked up a bit and somebody's hat went flying. Nobody so much as glanced in the object direction as they continued on with their dreary parade through the streets. Casteel could see the graveyard in the distance, and the hole in which Elashya would forever reside. He knew Kieran saw it too by the way the wolven started shaking. Someone beside him, whom Casteel had never seen before, put their hand on Kieran’s shoulder, rubbing it and comforting him until he seemed to calm a bit.

A rogue bit of jealousy flashed through him, and Casteel worked to control it. He and Kieran loved each other very much. Before his… capture, outsiders looking at their relationship would’ve thought they hated each other. They had been constantly at each out, swinging fists at faces for the most minor things. They still loved each other though. Nothing would change that. However, fifty years of two different kinds of torture had changed them both, and he felt like he hardly knew his dearest friend, his partner in crime, anymore. He wanted to get to know him again, badly. But, every time he tried to step even a toe outside of his current comfort zone, something in his mind convinced him that he would end up back in that cage again, being raped and brutalized, his body nor his blood his own.

Casteel shook his head, yanking himself away from that train of thought before he could board it. It had been nearly three months since he’d had a panic attack, and he didn’t wish to restart that timer.

Cas’s eyes left the window and trailed around the small room. When he’d returned, seven years ago almost to the day, he didn’t want to stay in his old rooms. They reminded him too much of her. Every time he set foot in the bedroom he could clearly see her lying on the bed, waiting for him to return. Every time he peeked his head into the bathroom he saw her in the shower, beckoning him to join as she washed her long golden locks. Every time he smelled her leftover scent in the sheets that had not been washed in fifty-seven years, he wanted to vomit. So, he’d requested a different room, one that didn’t feel so big and empty, and one that she had never set foot in.

His gaze snagged on the small wardrobe in the corner, and he pushed his chair back from the desk walking silently over the wood floors. He stopped in front of the cabinet and slowly opened the fancily embellished doors. They creaked slightly, the sound deafening in the quiet room. Inside were all the clothes he’d worn for the past seven years. Ten tunics, ten pairs of breeches, ten pairs of socks, four belts, three coats, two cloaks and a set of boots that were worn and practically falling apart. All of which were some variation of white, brown, or black. Not the most fitting outfits for a Prince, but something about the routine of it comforted him.

He selected a white tunic, the lightest color breeches he had—a sort of light beige—and a black belt. It wasn’t even close to being appropriate for a funeral, but he didn’t have anything formal and white, so these would have to do. Potentially he could borrow some clothes from Kieran’s closet, or some old ones from Jasper, but he was already going outside for the first time in quite a while, and he didn’t know if he could handle more than one new thing at a time.

Casteel shucked off his soft, stretchy trousers and pulled on the light beige ones. He pulled the tunic over his head and buttoned it up, tucking the fabric into his pants. Glancing out the window, he noticed that the parade was near the cemetery. He would have to hurry if he were to make it on time.

Without thinking much about it, Casteel threw open the door to his chambers and stepped out into the cool hallway. He took a minute to let the reality of what he was about to do sink in. Anxiety bubbled up, but he quickly shoved it down, refusing to let his fear get in the way of what Kieran needed. He was going to be there for his brother if it was the last thing he did. A small voice in the back of his tried to convince him it would be, and he paused, letting the voice take over for a minute. And then he was flying down the hallway, not an all out run, but pretty damn close. Slow and steady wasn’t going to cut it here. It was going to be either all at once or not at all.

The walls were a blur as he sprinted through the large estate. There were usually very few visitors at this time of year, and Kirha and Jasper rarely employed servants, so the halls were quiet and empty.

Casteel slowed down near the stairs, trying desperately not to trip. Nothing took the dignity out of one's re-enter into the world like falling face-first down the stairs.

“Casteel?”

He paused, foot poised above the ground, hand white-knuckling the railing. Turning his head, he met the teary gaze of Kirha Contou. Unlike Casteel, she had known Elashya quite well, and being Kirha, had practically claimed the wolven as one of her own. It was no surprise that she was nearly as upset as Kieran was.

“I didn’t expect you to be out at this time,” she said, her voice soft as if she was afraid she might scare him away. Casteel was afraid he might be scared away too. “Do you need something?”

The silence was the loudest he’d ever heard. He wanted to answer her, but something in him froze. The large parlor suddenly seemed extremely daunting, not to mention outside, where the sky was open and there were no walls to keep him safe. He would have nothing except for the clothes on his back and his own frail body, that still hadn’t built up even a third of the muscle he used to have. Casteel stepped back, away from the door, away from the outside world.

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t do this.

“Cas?” Kirha said again. Her expression was one of love, and she held her hand out in front of her, coming towards him. “I was heading to Elashya’s funeral. Would you like to come?” She cocked her head waiting for an answer.

Steeling himself, he tentatively placed his hand in hers. Casteel would force himself to go if he must. Kieran needed him, and he would be there for his brother. It also helped that Kirha would walk there with him. A comforting presence if he should need it, and he had a feeling he would.

The first steps outside were stressful to say the least, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead, and refused to let himself look at the empty, open sky, or even glance at the few civilians that gawked at him along the street. Eventually he felt their eyes find other places to land on, and he felt a bit lighter, each step less of a challenge than the one before.

Kirha stood by his side the entire time, leading him through what they both knew as the least crowded areas of the city.

Too soon for comfort, the graveyard was in view, and Casteel could see the large amount of people gathered in the middle. It seemed that the eulogy’s had already started and as they grew nearer, he could hear the end of an older man’s speech being delivered. He looked like he could be her father, and it was confirmed when he referenced the dead as his daughter.

Kirha led him through the makeshift pews towards Jasper and their youngest daughter, Vonetta, who waved shyly at him. Kieran sat in the second row just ahead of them, and he seemed to sense Casteel’s prescenese, tensing and turning around to meet his gaze.

His eyes were teary, and there were water tracks all down his cheeks, but he did his best to smile when he saw Casteel, mouthing a quiet “thank you”. Cas nodded to the wolven and then looked towards the podium, where a Priestess stepped up and called the next speaker forward.

“Kieran Contou, partner of the deceased.”

All eyes turned to his brother, and Kieran stood, shakily making his way to the front and thanking the Priestess for the introduction. He stepped up onto the podium and then seemed to freeze, droplets of water starting to build up in his eyes.

Kieran gripped the speech in his hands, looking over the crowd as if they were his death sentence. Tears spilled down his face and Casteel could feel Kirha tense beside him. She very obviously wanted to go to her son, but didn’t know how he would react. He couldn’t blame her. Kieran’s feelings were confusing on a good day, and today was very much not a good day.

Without thinking about what he was going to do, Casteel stood up. Immediately all eyes were on him, but he forced himself to ignore them all except the ones that belonged to his best friend. He made his way out of the aisle, trying not to step on anyone’s feet while still meeting Kieran’s gaze.

He didn’t really remember the walk to the front, only the way his bonded’s eyes, usually full of amusement or boredom or absolute apathy, were completely raw. A window directly into his soul. His friend was vulnerable and practically ripped open for the world to see. And, Casteel couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

“Do you want me to?” he asked softly, holding out one hand for the piece of paper that contained the handwritten speech.

Kieran looked down at the page and then back at Casteel and repeated the action. Eventually he nodded, shaking as he handed it to his friend. The wolven moved to leave, but Cas wrapped his arm around his shoulders pulling him close and waiting until he relaxed in his grip to speak.

Clearing his throat, Casteel began.

“I did not know Elashya well,” he started in his own words, his voice ringing out stronger and clearer than he’d anticipated, “She and I did not see each other very often and when we did I am ashamed to say that I did not make much of an effort to become acquainted with her… But I can see very clearly from the crowd gathered here today that she was much loved, and I have been told of her kindness and her warm, magnetic personality by my best friend and brother, Kieran Contou.”

The wolven beside him let out a choked sob, and several people in the crowd started to cry along with him. Casteel hugged him tighter.

“I know that he loved her very much, and it is with this love in mind that I read his speech for you today,” he unfolded the piece of paper and started to read about the woman he’d never known, but now wish he had met, “Elashya Fraiser was a bright light in my life—in all our lives—and one that was snuffed out much too quickly… She had such a long life to live, so many things she wanted to do that she was not able to. But I know that if she were here now she would scold me for being so depressing.”

The crowd did not laugh, but several gave small smiles, each remembering something about the deceased. Caseteel paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, and then continued.

“So I will try during this speech not to mourn the life she did not live, but celebrate the one she had,” Casteel watched as many nodded in agreement, “I remember when I first met her. It was at a time when my life was filled with shadows, but they scattered at the first bright smile I saw on her face. That was one of the many things I loved about her. She was always smiling, always looking for a silver lining on every cloud. Her smiles were beautiful, and they made me feel warm inside every time I caught a glimpse.”

He remembered when Shea’s smiles had done that for him. When every glance she made his way made his very soul soar.

“I know what you’re thinking. Every man in love has something cheesy to say about their love’s smile, but Elashya’s was like hot cocoa and a warm blanket on a cold night. Everything about her felt like coming home.”

He had not known Elashya, but his friend's beautiful words made it feel like he had. She sounded like a lovely person, and he really did regret not getting to know her.

“She lit up every room without fail, and made it seem effortless. Even in the last days of her life she stayed positive. Even as her loved ones crowded, teary-eyed, around her bed, saying their final goodbyes, she was able to send them away smiling. Still sad, but at least reassured that she would be okay in the next life. And she will be,” Casteel paused to read the next line, and almost laughed out loud. Even in tough times Kieran found a way to be sarcastic, “If anyone can find something good in being dead it’s Elashya.”

This time there were a couple teary chuckles. Even without looking up, Casteel could sense that many people were in a deep state of nostalgia. He could tell Kieran was too. The wolven had stopped sobbing and though there were still tears running down his cheeks, they were ones not of sorrow, but of a bittersweet kind of feeling. Casteel turned his attention back to the page.

“I’m sorry that my speech is so short, for I fear that if I write any more I will not be able to stop. There is so much about her that I want to share, so much I want to say about the one I loved. The one I still love with all my heart. But, there is a time limit on these, so I will say just one more thing.”

Casteel had told himself at the beginning that he would get through this speech without shedding tears, but reading what Kieran had written about the woman he’d loved was making it pretty damn difficult. He had a way with words that Casteel would never be able to even attempt. And the speech was a painful reminder that he hardly knew anything anymore about his best friend. Kieran had been in love for the first time for the gods sake and he hadn’t been there for him.

Something nudged his side and Casteel opened eyes he hadn’t realized were closed. He blinked away the slight wetness that had been gathering and looked to Kieran, who poked him again.

“Sorry,” he whispered only loud enough for his friend to hear. Kiearn nodded and gestured back to the speech.

“Can I finish?” he rasped.

Casteel handed the page to him, directing him towards where he left off and a second later Kieran was speaking slowly, but surely.

“Elashya and I knew from the moment we fell in love that the end could come any day,” his voice wavered a bit, but he waved Casteel away when he tried to take over, “We knew that it was possible she would die, and I must admit there were times I felt myself falling into hopelessness. There were times where I was tempted to save myself from despair, for I am selfish, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”

Casteel wasn’t sure where this notion came from that he was selfish, for the wolven was one of the most loyal and loving people he knew. But, he didn’t interrupt, only made a mental note to later remind Kieran of the love he held inside him.

“But every moment I was with her has made it worth it. All the pain I have felt the last few weeks has been worth it, and I would endure a million more years of it if it meant I could see her just one last time.”

Casteel felt the same way about Shea. He was deeply ashamed of it, but he could not pretend he didn’t feel the way he felt. He would do anything to have just one more moment with her before. Before she decided she didn’t love him enough to stay with him until the end. But, maybe there was no before. Maybe she’d never felt that way for him. Maybe she’d been stringing him along the entire time. A tear fell out of the corner of his eye, and made a track down his cheek.

“I do not regret a thing and I know she didn’t either. I know that she is watching me now, and I hope that she is proud of me for trying to be at least somewhat optimistic. I admit I’m rather bad at it,” he paused, smiling a bit at his own writing, “But I know that if I were somehow taken back in time with all the knowledge of the heartbreak I was to endure, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Kieran then looked up, meeting the eyes of everyone in the crowd and setting down the card. The tears in his eyes were coming back in full force and he took a deep breath, looking behind him at that coffin poised beside the empty grave. He looked… he looked lost, but like there was hope that he could be found again. Then, with visible effort he turned away, and held his head high delivering the last line of his speech.

“Because the heart doesn’t care how long you may have someone… It just cares that you have the person for as long as you can.”

#kieran contou #casteel da'neer #casteel & kieran #brothers #brotherly love #brothely feels #angst #eulogy #speeches #funeral #loss of loved one #dealing with grief #mourning #fbaa #akofaf #tcogb #tcogb spoilers

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peachyteez · 4 years

Text

lost puppy ≫ DAY THREE, SAFE.

being abandoned by your owners is never fun. but yunho takes it as a chance to explore the world as his owners were never the kindest people. having wandered around jiyu’s condo, seonghwa discovers the lost puppy and said puppy is offered a second chance at a place to call home

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @choisaniskillingme, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @danibookmarks, @chanyeolol, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha

can’t be tagged: @koasworld

feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to the list! :)

✧ notes: once again, sorry for the late chapter 😭, midterm season sucks.

✧ WARNING: mentions of abuse!

back。| next。

“are you sure it’s okay for you to come out here with food again?” yunho apprehensively asked when seonghwa once again showed up with more food.

“you worry too much,” seonghwa reassured as he pushed the bag towards the golden–retriever. “i told you. jiyu wouldn’t mind.”

or so he hoped. he hasn’t even told jiyu about yunho yet. a part of him wanted to, but he didn’t know what jiu would do to yunho. would she bring him to a shelter? bring him to the facility? or worse, chase him out? he immediately shook that thought. ahe would never do that.

but also, there was a part of him that wanted to convince jiyu to adopt yunho. they were talking about a second hybrid a few days ago, so she would accept yunho, right? even if he was a stray?

“does your owner even know about me?” yunho asked while picking at his rice. “you had some hesitance while saying she wouldn’t mind.”

seonghwa sighed, a sign that yunho took as ‘no, she doesn’t know about you.’

“are you gonna tell her?” he asked.

“i will. soon,” seonghwa said, glancing up to the sky. noticing the gray clouds hovering above, his ears twitched in surprise when he felt a water drop land on his nose.

before they both knew it, it started pouring rain. seonghwa immediately jumped up, about to head back to the apartment, before remembering about yunho. looking down, he noticed the golden–retriever hybrid getting progressively more soaked. he looked...lost. he doesn’t have anywhere to go. seonghwa realized. jiyu would do the same.

“come on,” he called out to yunho, giving him a hand. “let’s go, you’re gonna get sick out here.”

yunho’s eyes widened. “g–go where?” there was absolutely no way seonghwa was telling him to go home with him—

“back to jiyu’s apartment.”

okay he was wrong.

he frantically shook his head. “i–i can’t do that! i’ll he fine, i can just go—”

before he could get another word out, seonghwa was already pulling the giant puppy onto his feet before dragging him by the arm back up to the apartment. he ignored yunho’s protests, which soon died down when they entered the building. luckily, the receptionist was on her lunch break, so no one could see the two.

taking the elevator up to the eighteenth floor and opening the front door, seonghwa gestured around. “make yourself at home. you can wait out the rain here,” he suggested before taking his collar off to go change out of his wet clothes. “i’ll get you some new clothes, too.”

yunho curiously looked around. he hasn’t stepped foot in a homey place in half a year. looking at the walls, he noticed a family picture. standing behind her sitting parents was a teenage girl. yunho cocked his head. was that seonghwa’s owner? her smile practically radiated warmth and...comfort. another thought came to his mind. why did seonghwa take his collar off? weren’t hybrids required to wear it at all times?

coming out of his room clad in an oversized hoodie and sweats, seonghwa noticed yunho staring at jiyu’s family picture. he cleared his throat to catch yunho’s attention. “here, you can change into these. i’ll put your wet clothes in the dryer.”

whipping around, yunho saw seonghwa handing him an orange tracksuit set. hesitantly accepting it, seonghwa led him to the bathroom. as he changed, he couldn’t get the girl’s smile out of his head. if that really was seonghwa’s owner, how lucky he was to score such an angelic one.

emerging from the bathroom, seonghwa took his wet clothes and threw them in the dryer as yunho started exploring the apartment. there were so many new sights to for him to see.

“what’s this?” he picked up a device with a red and blue controller on each side.

“a nintendo switch. you can play games on it,” seonghwa explained, finding the fascinated expression on yunho’s face painfully familiar. it looked like his when he first came home with jiyu. seonghwa felt a tug at his heart. he and yunho were more similar than he thought.

“did you have it bad?” he quietly asked, a hand coming up to gesture to his neck. how abusive were your owners?

yunho’s eyes fell to the ground. “...pretty bad...they locked me in a cage most of the time...sometimes even forgot to feed me...”

seonghwa clenched his fists. it disgusted him how some humans could take advantage of hybrids—almost as if they meant nothing.

“that’s why being a stray is better. freedom from humans, no need to worry about getting hurt,” yunho explained with a little pained smile as he sat on the floor.

the two were engulfed in silence before seonghwa’s phone rang. yunho glanced at the phone on the table in front of him. jiyu :D. his eyes widened. did seonghwa have his own phone?

seonghwa picked up the phone and swiped to answer. “hello?”

jiyu’s guilty voice could be heard on the other side. “hwa, i’m really sorry. but i might come home a little late again tonight.”

using his enhanced hearing, yunho could listen in on the call. hearing jiyu’s voice made him relaxed for reasons he couldn’t explain.

seonghwa softly smiled. “it’s fine, jiyu. i’ll cook something for you.”

“no, no! you don’t have to!” jiyu protested. yunho slightly furrowed his eyebrow in confusion. why was she saying no? isn’t a hybrid supposed to satisfy their owner?

“you already made food the past three days, you don’t need to go through the trouble again. i can eat at the cafeteria here.”

seonghwa slightly frowned. “promise you won’t skip your meal?” he asked.

jiyu chucked. “yes, i promise. i need to go, stay safe, hwa!” she quickly said before ending the call.

yunho was in a daze. that phone call sounded so foreign to him. if he had spoken that way to his former owners, no doubt they’d beat him until he bled. yet jiyu allowed seonghwa to talk to her like that? he didn’t understand—rather than a conversation between a hybrid and their owner, it was like a conversation between friends.

seonghwa slightly chuckled seeing yunho’s dazed and confused expression. “i told you,” he said. “she’s not that type of person.” sitting next to the golden–retriever, he gestured to the switch in his hands. “want to learn how to play?”

and just like that, seonghwa spent the next few hours teaching yunho how to play mario kart, overcooked (which consisted of a lot of yelling and stress for the both of them), and he even let yunho decorate the island on animal crossing.

yunho couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun. although it was fun as a stray, this was a different type of fun. he felt at home and safe. and it was the best feeling for yunho, he practically didn’t want to leave. but he knew that his time here was limited. he’d have to leave before seonghwa’s owner came home.

the two lost track of time as they played countless rounds of mario kart and overcooked. yunho’s clothes finished drying hours ago and the sun almost disappeared from the sky. they were so engrossed with the games that they didn’t hear the beep of the front door keypad and someone shouting “i’m back, hwa!”

stepping into the apartment, jiyu found it weird how seonghwa hadn’t come running like he usually would. putting her shoes away, she heard the familiar tune of overcooked and the stressed shouts, making her chuckle before she stopped in confusion. shouts? who’s seonghwa shouting at?

making a beeline for the living room area, her jaw fell open when she saw a giant golden–retriever hybrid. “u–um...”

ears standing up in alarm, the two whipped around and their eyes became the size of frying pans when they saw jiyu standing there. yunho froze with horror. this was it. this was the end for him. he’d be kicked out and probably forbidden from coming back.

seonghwa got up and stood in front of yunho. “i can explain, please don’t be mad at me and don’t kick him out,” he blurted out.

snapping out of her trance, she shook her head. “i’m not mad, hwa. just...a little confused,” she mumbled as she glanced at the cowering hybrid behind seonghwa.

she frowned before slowly approaching him. “don’t be scared, buddy. i won’t hurt you. and i promise i’m not mad. i’m just confused as to where you came from,” she gently explained before sitting down on the floor.

seonghwa sat next to jiyu, giving yunho a reassuring look. yunho couldn’t bring himself to look up. his head was down, his ears and tail drooping.

“what’s your name?” jiyu asked with a soft smile as she tried to peer at his face.

yunho whimpered, breaking jiyu’s heart. “y–y–yunho,” he managed to stutter out.

sensing jiyu’s gloom, seonghwa leaned down and rested his chin on her shoulder. yunho peered up at them through his hair. jiyu looked completely fine with his actions. she was even smiling as she pat seonghwa’s head.

“hi, yunho. i’m jiyu. seonghwa’s...friend. i don’t like being referred to as his owner, it’s quite frustrating,” she slightly pouted.

that made yunho snap his head up. what kind of human didn’t like being acknowledged as a hybrid’s owner? he felt like he was dreaming. jiyu was the embodiment of an angel.

jiyu smiled when she was able to see his face. his resemblance to a puppy was uncanny, and she found it adorable. “i see you met seonghwa,” she chuckled, gently scratching behind seonghwa’s ears, making them twitch as he chuffed in content. “i hope he didn’t scare you with his growl,” she teasingly said.

yunho nervously chuckled, making jiyu gasp as she looked at seonghwa with a playful little glare. “you did scare him, didn’t you!” she booped his nose.

seonghwa looked away in embarrassment. “sorry,” he mumbled.

yunho watched the banter in fascination. he’s never seen such a relationship between a hybrid and their owner. it was was so carefree and practically heartwarming. despite being content as a stray, he couldn’t help but yearn for a loving family, just like any other hybrid. and to see one in front of him made him quite jealous if he were being honest.

jiyu noticed his bare neck. “are you a stray?” she asked.

yunho’s hands unconsciously flew to his neck. “o–oh, yes, i am. i’ve been one for half a year,” he replied, painfully polite.

“you don’t have to be so polite to me, yunho,” she reassured. “it makes me feel old.”

“but my last owners kicked me for speaking informally...” he mumbled. meeting jiyu was like a culture shock for him.

jiyu’s eyes widened when she realized what type of background he had. taking a deep breath, she crossed her arms across her chest and pinched her nose bridge, feeling anger bubble up in her. “breathe, jiyu, breathe,” she mumbled.

yunho cocked his head in confusion. “is that normal?” he quietly asked seonghwa, who started nuzzling his head against the crook of her neck.

seonghwa softly chuckled with a nod. “it happens when she’s stressed.”

“i just don’t understand how some people have the heart to treat hybrids like they’re toys,” jiyu said. “like i’m literally speechless, i don’t know what to say. what makes them think it’s okay to treat them like that—”

“calm down, jiyu. otherwise you’re gonna go off on a tangent again,” seonghwa gently said.

taking another breath, she calmed herself down before looking at yunho again. “it’s pretty late, why don’t you stay for the night?” she suggested. “i can figure out your situtation tomorrow. maybe i can try to take you out of your previous owner’s care,” she said.

yunho almost passed out. “n–no, i r–really can’t accept that offer! you don’t have to trouble yourself—”

jiyu chuckled. “it’s not trouble if i want to help you, yunho. no hybrid deserves that kind of treatment,” she said before standing up and stretching her arms above her head. “in the meantime, you’re welcome to stay with us. you’re safe with us, i promise,” she warmly added the last statement before walking off to the bathroom to take a shower.

yunho watched her walk away with widened eyes. she was everything he’s always wished for and more. he pinched himself. he winced from the slight pain. it wasn’t a dream.

seonghwa smiled before patting the golden–retriever on the shoulder. “i guess you’ll be staying in my room.”

yunho couldn’t even refute from the shock he was experiencing from practically everything that happened in the last fifteen minutes. what good had he done in his past life for him to deserve all of this?

in the mean time, standing underneath the shower head, jiyu swore to every higher being in existance that she would help yunho no matter what it took, even if they just met.

just like she managed to help seonghwa, she can, and would, do it all over again.

#9th member of ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez angst #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #jeong yunho imagines #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #hybrid au #kpop hybrid au #ateez hybrid #hybrid!ateez #ateez au

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bisexual-inuyasha · 3 years

Text

Xingese Gold

Prompts: pining/hands/nature. “Please just hate me already.”

Wrap your arms and hold me still

I don't wanna think about what I will

Speak in tones that I can't hear

And tell me how no one knows anything in here

-- Jade Bird “What Am I Here For”

A young boy with black hair and dark eyes sat in his mother’s field. His face was serious, mouth twisted into a frown. He was a very stern child, hair pulled severely back into a bun.

For most kids his age, the object of their concentration would be something colorful and loud. Or maybe even ants crawling along the dirt or the dried out carcass of a worm. For this child, scrawny and tired, it was the flowers. His fingers--nimble, gentle, fleeting like tiny birds--brushed over the golden strands. Petals remained safely caged behind spindly stamen. His pants were soaked at the knees, his bare feet covered in broken grass and mud.

His mother had taught him about these flowers. It couldn’t have been more than a month ago, after a similar heavy bout of rains. The lesson came after the worst news in his young life. She had died only a few days later, protecting him from one of his brothers from another clan. Forty one siblings would be easier to kill than forty two. He’d written the name down in a book, tucked that book into his shirt, and watched his mother be buried in the only silk his clan could muster. It had not been a good season.

She had called these flowers Xingese gold. According to her, they were the only flowers of their kind in all the world. Other places had yellow, red and white. But only the Yao clan from Xing had golden spider lilies. They were proof, she’d said, that he was meant to ascend to the throne. Only the Emperor could wear gold, after all.

He glanced around the field and rocked back on the balls of his feet to get a better look. When he was sure the coast was clear, he plucked a flower and tucked it into the middle pages.

The list of the names in the book grew longer as more and more clans fell to assassination attempts. His mother’s children, his half-siblings, resented and revered him as their downfall and their only possible salvation. For many years, he had no true friends.

And then Lan Fan found him, visiting the now overgrown field, plucking Xingese gold. And she swore, for the price of a single flower, she would protect him. Her hands were clean and her clothes neat when he took him to the humble house she lived in. Her grandfather’s face was hard. His lessons were harder. But his kindness reminded Ling of a childhood wrapped and buried in silk. And with the old man’s guidance, and Lan Fan’s friendship, Ling’s body hardened into a weapon.

His personality sharpened like a knife, quick and cutting and so unassuming.

But it was his instincts that set him apart. He lived with his finger on the pulse, twisting around the existence of others like a hesitant snake. Curious and fleeting, never lingering long, taking only what he needed.

And this is how Ling Yao became a teenager who crossed the desert, determined to find the key to immortality.

**Amestris, before the end of the world.**

Ling lay on hot tiles, tapping his toes against the burning roof. He was waiting for the right time to drop through the open window. This golden haired alchemist was well known around this country for his search for the philosopher’s stone. The philosopher’s stone was well known for being the only alchemical way to achieve immortality. If Ling believed in fate, he’d almost think they were meant to find each other.

That wouldn’t do right now.

Ed had all the cards. Every scrap of information Ling wanted existed behind those golden eyes. Whatever Ed didn’t know about the philosopher’s stone, he knew how to find. Ling sensed that maybe, this stone and Ed’s life, were intrinsically linked. Linked in a way far more certain than fate.

Al left the room. The metal man had taken to leaving when he could tell Ed needed to rest. It was less lonely for him to spend those hours exploring the city. Or at least that was the reason Al gave. But it didn’t take the dragon’s pulse to see that Edward Elric was thinning out.

Not physically. His body was fit as ever, though no taller for having increased his intake. But Edward himself seemed more and more distant. Al may be afraid of disappearing inside his armor, but Ed was disappearing into himself. The golden hair alchemist was becoming lost in a maze of problems and responsibilities that seemed to grow new walls and corridors every day. Ling had his own knots to untangle. He couldn’t help lead Edward out of his.

“I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to talk with you.” Ling slid through the window, grinning.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” Ed’s metal arm was over his eyes. Ling had noticed he did this when he was too warm. The metal had to be cool against his skin.

“Do what? You can’t even see me.” Ling sidled down onto the couch. Ed’s bed was clear across the room. He could have sworn the set up was different when the boys had first settled into this room, but he wouldn’t complain. “Lan Fan and Fu want me to stay hidden for a couple of days, until Bradley loses interest.”

“What, did you get bored?” Ed snickered. “Or did they just run out of food?”

Ling patted his tummy forlornly. “Do you mean to say you have food? I do feel a little faint, now that you mention it.” He went limp, feigning unconsciousness. His stomach growled for good effect.

Ed’s footsteps padded on the hardwood floors. The metal clunk of his foot was muffled by the sock he wore over it, but it was still an unusual gait. Distinct, and comforting. It had been a signal to Ling that he was safe, since Gluttony. Since he’d listened for those footsteps in the dark, and the blood. Ling opened his eyes and stared at the moonlit ceiling. Just the thought of Gluttony made him feel slimy. Filled his nose with the scent of blood. Suddenly his appetite was gone.

He still accepted the bowl of scallion chicken soup when Ed handed it to him and took a large spoonful. “Cold.”

“Yeah, well, that is what an icebox does.” Ed pulled his hand through his hair. “Still good though.”

Ling took another large spoonful. His stomach clenched. He put the food down. He tried not to look revolted but Ed was watching him all the same. “Good, but maybe not what I’m hungry for tonight.”

“Hm.” Ed tapped his fingers against his chair. His mouth was tense, body full of restless energy. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Do you ever think about how we’re just… kids?”

Ling waited for the horror to cross Ed’s face at what would usually be a difficult confession, but tonight seemed to be a night of honesty.

“I haven’t been a kid since before I met Lan Fan. I don’t contemplate those kinds of things much any more.” Ling leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. Ed was still in his black tanktop and work pants. He’d taken to sleeping in them more often than not. “What makes your mind so heavy today?”

Ed didn’t answer for a long moment. Outside, Ling could hear the never sleeping cars of Amestris trotting along the cobble streets. Ling followed the line where Ed’s hair met his jawline. It looked so different outside of the braid.

“I saw Al’s body. It’s just. So young.” Ed stood, pacing. Ling listened to the pad-thunk-scrape-pad-thunk of Ed’s steps. “We’re all so young. I can see it in the Colonel’s eyes when he gives me orders. I can feel it when Riza talks to me and there’s all this… this sorrow. Like she’s stealing something from me. Something I’ll never get back. And some part of me knows she’s right.”

Ling could taste the metallic stain of blood on his tongue. His fingernails still had some of Gluttony stuck in the beds. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Envy’s souls calling out to him, begging him to free them. “I’m tired, Ed. Have you been sleeping?”

Ed’s eyes narrowed. His arms crossed. In a small, miffed voice he admitted that no, he hadn’t really been sleeping. “Don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“You’re too young to be contemplating loss of youth.” Ling grinned. It was full of too many teeth. “Come on, lighten up Ed. You probably just need a nap.”

“I don’t want to nap. I just. Want to feel like I’m going somewhere.” Ed flopped back into his seat. Ling’s response seemed to have deflated him. “I’m just trying to get back to where I was before I lost Al’s body. But what do I do then? Most people spend this time figuring that out, but I’ve just determined I don’t want to stay a State Alchemist.”

“That’s a good start.” Link chuckled, and despite his best effort, it was not as lighthearted as he usually managed. “Being able to decide you don’t want to do something is a luxury some of us don’t have.”

This was an unusual visit. Since Ling and Ed’s day spent in the belly of Gluttony, Ling had gone to see Ed whenever the sun went down and the smell of blood filled his nose. Usually, Ed gave away his leftovers and they snarked back and forth at each other until Ling fell asleep on the couch. The next morning, Ling would sneak away through the window he snuck in from.

Ling’s chest felt tight. The room was too hot. He didn’t want to think about lost childhood, lost time. He didn’t want to think about fate and choosing his destiny. Ed’s problems weren’t his problems. Ed was upset he hadn’t been utilizing his time choosing what to do after he inevitably succeeded in his goal of finding Al’s body.

If Ling didn’t succeed in becoming emperor, all of his clan's people would die. And whoever became emperor could kill a lot more than that. His success depended on a goal so outlandish that most people dismissed it as a childish fantasy. Success meant a long life of being more responsible for more people than he could count in ten lifetimes.

A heavy touch landed on his shoulder. Ed must have been talking to him, but he hadn’t heard anything at all.

“Are you ok, Ling?” Ed’s earlier anxiety was replaced by worry. Now that Ling had been pulled out from his thoughts, he could feel Ed’s other hand on his knee. Anchors to the present.

Ling smiled. He opened his mouth to assure Ed he was fine and maybe he’d take a nap since Ed wouldn’t, but Ed was already shaking his head.

“You don’t have to do that.” Ed let go of Ling’s shoulder and leaned back against the couch. He laid his head back, staring up at the window Ling came in. “I don’t have anyone I can actually talk to either, you know. Everyone expects something of me.”

“I expect something from you, too.” Ling leaned back beside Ed. Their shoulders bumped into each other on the couch, skin against skin. The smell of blood receded. Ling’s stomach growled again.

“No, you want something from me. That’s not the same as expecting something of me.”

Ling turned to look at the alchemist, surprised. “Explain.”

“Winry expects me to keep her and Al safe, to keep all my promises and then return home. Al, of course, expects me to get his body back. And I will. I want to. He should expect it of me. The Colonel and Hawkeye expect me to be an amazing alchemist, but they also expect me to be ok. Compared to all of that…” Ed sighed. “Compared to that, telling you about the philosopher’s stone is just a conversation. Just me telling you about Alchemy and my research.”

“So you’re saying you would have told me about the philosopher’s stone without me blowing up Gluttony’s head?”

Ed scoffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel like a badass.”

“I was terrified. I'd like to see you stick your whole arm in that thing’s mouth.” They both laughed. Though truly, Ling was terrified of Gluttony. And Envy. All of the Homunculi who had too many souls. He thought Ed probably was, too.

“Well, you certainly looked confident. And fast, too. You’ll have to teach me some moves. Maybe I'll finally beat Al in a fight.”

They didn’t talk for so long that Ling drifted into sleep. His side pressed against Ed’s. Their legs touched hip to knee. Ling could feel the jutting edge of the automail through Ed’s jeans. To his surprise, Ed’s head leaned into his, stirring him. Ling turned to see if Ed was asleep and was greeted with a face full of golden hair.

Ling moved carefully. Ed was fast asleep. He didn’t even seem to notice Ling’s arm move to circle around his shoulders.

The memory of the dark, and the blood, and the souls crying out dimmed. Quieter, until Ling could almost convince himself those monsters had just been a bad dream. He ran his fingers through Ed’s hair and considered.

They’d grown closer, since their run in with Gluttony and the desperate run from Father’s base below Central. Since his introduction to Ling, both Envy and Wrath had been relentless in hunting him down. And still, he came here. Still, he waited out the nights with an anchor that told him the darkness was safe.

“You know, I’m going to use that stone eventually.” Ling kept his voice low. He didn’t actually want to confess anything to Ed. Not while the shorter man was sleeping so soundly. “No matter how it was made, I can’t let all my people die.”

Ed didn’t stir. Ling hummed. A thought twisted through his chest. “It would probably be better if you hated me now instead of later. But I just can’t bring myself to warn you. I’m a selfish, selfish man.”

Ling drifted off again eventually. It was hard to sleep on the couch without ending up awkwardly wrapped around Ed or falling off onto the hard wood.

When he woke in the morning, he was surprised to find Ed still leaning on his shoulder, fast asleep. The sun flooded the window and suddenly Ling was back in Xing, in his mother’s field. Strands of gold spilled between his fingertips.

“Xingese gold…” Ling murmured.

“What?” Ed yawned and sat up. “God, your breath stinks.”

Ling snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

Ling’s face burned. Every time he’d done this before, Ed had slept in his own bed. They’d come dangerously close to cuddling. With Ling’s increasing dependency on his visits with Ed, he wasn’t sure how to interpret the new developments.

“What’s Xingese gold?” Ed stood and stretched.

Ling smiled, remembering his mother sitting among the flowers. He pulled his book from his pocket. “I’ll show you.”

The flower was faded and fragile. Ling didn’t dare move the flower off the paper. “Only my clan in Xing can grow this specific shade. My mother called it Xingese gold.”

“That’s… random.” Ed shrugged.

“Just a dream, that’s all.” Ling stretched his grin wide again. “Though, your hair is the exact same shade.”

Ed’s cheeks tinged pink. “Hey, about last night…”

“No one has to know Edward Elric thought I looked cool when I fought the homunculus.” Ling patted Ed’s head, a motion he knew the short alchemist would hate. Ed fumed, but didn’t shout like Ling expected.

“Just so you know, Ling. If you accept that stone, I’ll fight it out of you.” Ed turned, picking up a new set of clothes for the day. “And if it kills you, it won’t make it to Xing to rule with your body.”

The anxiety in Ling’s chest burst. Fear, anger, worry splashed around his insides, coating his thoughts with an existential dread. Ed had heard him last night. Had heard him and rejected hating him.

Ling climbed into the window.

Edward didn’t look back to see him leave.

Besides, no matter how Ling felt about what Ed had said, they both knew he’d be back when the darkness came.

#Ed/Ling #EdLing #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #m/m #rarepair

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-2)

Word count: 4.3K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Depression, some fluff, the usual

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines from now on. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Fingers crossed that you guys like this part :)

Beta: The sweetest @deanssweetheart23. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Athina <3

Read part 1 here

It was, at least, a couple of hours before you found the courage to step out of the bathroom stall and walk out of the campus. With every turn you made, it felt that Sam might be there around the corner. On every bend, you were afraid that you might bump into him. But it wasn’t just that. Every colour looked brighter, every sound seemed sharper. It was as if the bubble of numbness that cocooned you had suddenly burst open and flung you in the middle of the world- raw and naked. Every sense felt more severe.

You were completely and utterly disoriented and exhausted when you turned the key of your apartment and entered. The inside was a brand new mess of boxes and pile ups. You flattened yourself against the wall.

“Hey!”

You looked around the box to see a brunette in all black sitting cross legged on the floor with a vicious cutter in her hand.

She saw that your gaze had landed on the cutter and waved it around. “This is just for the boxes,”

Meg.

It had completely slipped your mind that your roommate was supposed to move in today.

You whispered a quick ‘hey’ without looking at her, and rushed to your room. Locking the door, you slid to the floor, wishing for the sharpness to go away, willing your safety bubble to come back. It did not. And the senses, the memories kept assaulting you over and over.

*********************

13th July 2008

“Happy average birthday, Y/N!” Jo squealed in your ears, and you flinched back.

“Happy average birthday to you, too. Also, don’t shout!” You said. “ Do you want to announce it to the whole bar? You’ll get me kicked out

“You’re 19!”

“Exactly!” You pointed out. “The legal drinking age in Kansas is 21.”

Joe rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Y/N? Anyone ever told you that you need to loosen the hell up? One beer isn’t going to hurt.”

You gave her a sly look. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Jo grinned back.

“Here!” She slid across a fake id. “I already got you the entry pass if anyone asks. But let’s just stick to beer, shall we? Don’t want you throwing up all over the place in case you can’t keep your liquid down.”

“What if Aunt El finds out?” You whispered.

Jo squinted at you. “Mom will not find out what she doesn’t need to find out. You shut up and I shut up. That’s all there is to it.”

Ellen, Jo’s mom had been your mom’s sister. You didn’t want to get in trouble with anyone here, especially since you were here just for a few weeks.

“You have that look on your face again,” Jo said. “The one where your eyebrows all scrunch up and you worry the hell out of that tiny little brain. I never know what you’re thinking Y/N!”

You smiled a little at her whiny tone. “There’s not much going on here anyway,” you said, pointing at your head.

She jingled the little frill on the tight, body hugging one piece she had put you in. “Maybe something will go on after tonight!”

“Hey,” you protested. “You’re the one who’s tango-ing with Dean Winchester… or whatever you two have going.”

“Dean Winchester is the one who wants to Tango with me!”

You rolled your eyes. “As if you’re not interested in him at all.”

She gave you a superior look. “He doesn’t need to know that. Who knows? Tonight he just might get lucky.”

You had been here for a little over a week, and were somewhat familiarised with the people of the town: Langdon Wheeler, the guy who sold old cars next to the fire depot; Sheriff Johnson and Old Rufus living outside the barn, but nothing had drawn you in like the story of the Winchesters. Ellen had told you about it over dinner on your second day living with them. John Winchester had been her friend. He and his wife had died in a house fire years ago. Their four year old boy, Dean, had barely ran out of the house with his 6 month old brother when the first floor blew apart, killing the couple. It was the tragedy of the town, repeated over and over on drunken nights in every bar. The boys had both lived with a friend of their father’s and his wife in Sioux Falls, Missouri before Dean was old enough to live by himself and move back here. Secretly, you had believed that it was good for the boys to have lived away from this gossip mongering town. You’d been here barely for a week and everyone was up Ellen’s nose asking for everything there was to know about you.

Besides, Dean Winchester had made a reputation as the town’s playboy since he’d arrived. Apparently, there were middle aged women knocking on his door every morning with Casseroles and he’d turned them all right back. You knew first hand how miffed women talked, so no wonder Dean was turned into the badboy overnight. It didn’t help that he was extremely handsome- you had seen him a couple of times with Jo- and obviously unachievable. Honestly, you didn’t blame Dean. If those women were gonna snoop into his business and make everyday a funeral for his parents, they got what they deserved.

Jo had put on a stoic face when you had voiced your opinion at the dinner table, leading you to assume she wasn’t a big fan of the man. It wasn’t until you were laying in bed next to her that she’d gone all out on an epic rant about how the town needed to treat those boys better! Dean was an honest man, who made his living by running the only good auto-body shop in three towns and being flirty wasn’t a capital offense. Snooping into other people’s business should have been though, according to her.

Jo had dozed off after a while, but you’d stayed up, looking at the cracks in the ceiling of her room, not thinking about Dean Winchester, but about that little boy, who was only 6 months old when a fire took away everything that he had, save one person. Sam Winchester was lucky that he had an older brother to look out for him. God knew, you had always wished for an older sibling even when your parents had been alive. But like Dean, you remembered what your mom looked like, you remembered the sound of your dad’s voice. Sam didn’t have that. It would have been awful growing up without the reassurance of those memories.

The next morning, you had asked Jo about Sam, and earned her sly smirk. “Getting into the story, aren’t you?” She’d said, but told you anyway. No one knew much about Sam except that he went to Stanford and then Yale to become a lawyer. He showed up during the summers but wasn’t seen out and about much. Though that was about to be changed because this had been his last year and he was coming back to Lawrence this weekend for good. Jo had seen him a couple of times at their diner where she helped Aunt El, but that was all she would tell you.

It was like some epic karma. A lawyer from an Ivy League? You didn’t care if it took hounding this poor unsuspecting dude, but you were going to get it out of him how he managed that? He clearly didn’t have influence or money.

After badgering Jo some more, she had agreed to let you tag along to Dean Winchester’s place when his brother got back.

“Hey!” Jo swooshed her hand past your face. “Earth to Y/N?”

“Sorry!” You said quickly.

She looked like she was praying for your awkward social skills. “I’m gonna get us some beers, and you are going to try to get lucky. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh.” Fat chance of that!

You watched her walk towards the bar, sashaying her hips. How did girls do that? How did girls do anything even remotely sexy for that matter?

Then there was you, dying to get out of this dress. It was off shoulder, and you were starting to feel hella cold. Jo or even Ellen for that matter didn’t have to know about your weird cold sensitivity. Should have brought along that sweater.

“You mind if I sit here?”

You looked up to see this really tall guy standing over you. It was a Friday, and the place was bustling full. There was no other place to sit, while you had three chairs empty right next to you. It would be rude to turn anyone around. Besides, when Jo came back, she’d sush away a stranger, anyway.

“Sure,” you smiled nervously.

He sat down, and you were left to gather your wits for a few moments. The boy was hot. There was literally no other way of saying it. He had long brown wavy hair that fell below his chin, and beautiful hazel eyes.

“Thanks,” he smiled, and dimples appeared at the side of his cheeks.

Speech. You had to actively remember that you had that ability so you could respond… even if it was just a noncommittal shrug.

Oh, what it must be like to be cool. You wanted to keep looking at him and that was exactly why you concentrated all your energy on looking anywhere but him.

After a while of total silence, he asked, “So you’re from around here?”

“Uhh… no,” you said, “I’m just staying at my aunt's place for a bit.”

“Oh, hey! Happy birthday!” He said, holding up the little placard on the cupcake sitting in front of you.

“Thanks,” you replied, hugging yourself, not wanting to explain that it really wasn’t your birthday. It really was getting cold out here. You saw his eyes flicker towards your hands catching your elbows.

“Celebrating by yourself?” He asked, and you felt a little bad for him trying to make a conversation with you out of decency. He could have used the time to hit on a waitress who could have gotten him a seat by the bar… or more. The least you could do was tell him the truth.

“Actually, it’s not my birthday today. It's in October and I’m here with my cousin whose birthday was in April. Since I’m just visiting for a few weeks, we decided to average it out and celebrate our combined birthday now. She’s here somewhere…” you said and found her in the shadiest corner of the bar, hands wrapped around someone in a leather jacket. Then, discreetly she pulled him towards the back exit with her.

Mr. Hazel eyes followed your stare and groaned. “Uhh they’re gonna be in there for a while.”

You wanted to bang your head against the table. Not that you begrudged Jo her alone time with Dean, but you really didn’t know anyone here.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said apologetically, running his hand through his hair. It looked so soft. You wanted to touch it. And his eyes were really kind. It made you a little mad that he was sympathetic about the fact that your cousin had ditched you on your combined birthday outing.

“My brother can be an idiot sometimes,” he shrugged, and you realised that he truly was apologising and his words weren’t judging at all. “I can keep you company till Jo gets back.”

Then it hit you.

“Wait! You’re Sam Winchester?” You blurted

He raised an eyebrow. “I can see that my reputation precedes me.” He laughed nervously and you immediately felt contrite. Way to make him feel spied upon.

“No, no,” you explained. “Jo told me about you, is all.”

“Something good I hope,” he mumbled, looking down.

Suddenly you could actually feel your heartbeat, and the blood rising to your cheeks. Here was the one person you had been wanting to meet and he had just walked into a bar and found you instead! Looking like that.

“So you’re Jo’s cousin?” He asked, clearly making the link that Ellen was your aunt. “How’re you liking Lawrence?”

“Not so much,” you answered honestly. “I’m tired of the pitying looks I keep getting.”

“Yeah, I can relate,” he said.

Of course he could. The bar was crowding up further and more than a few stray glances were making their way towards you. It made you uncomfortable.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” Sam asked, then clarified realising how that sounded. “I mean there’s this park right outside. We could wait there till... you know…” he waved his fingers vaguely towards where Dean and Jo had disappeared, light blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Yes!” You said jumping out of the chair. The realisation hit you afresh, how short your skirt was. That’s it, you were never wearing Jo’s clothes again.

Sam stood back and let you pass before him in a true gentleman fashion. You tucked your hair behind your ear, walking ahead, and then out of the bar.

The cold air hit you hard in the face and your naked shoulders, making you shiver.

“Here,” Sam offered you his jacket. He had shirked out of it as he’d walked behind you. “Take this.”

Ordinarily, you’d never had accepted, but it was either that or freezing your fingers off.

“Thanks.” You reached for it shyly, pulling it on and rolling up the really long sleeves. The jacket was so big that it was just barely shorter than your dress. It was pleasantly warm and smelled wonderful.

You had the sudden, maddening urge to move closer to Sam. Of course, thanks to the tiny logical part of your brain that wasn’t short-circuiting, you did not act on it.

Now that he was walking next to you, you noticed what he was wearing- A dark flannel open over the well-worn brown t-shirt and jeans. They were about as ordinary as clothes went, yet he managed to make them look so good.

“Hey, can I ask you something,” he said hesitantly. “Why did you say you were tired of the pitying looks?”

You glanced at him and blurted the truth. “I’m the new attraction, I suppose. My parents died in a car crash when I was five and I’ve lived with my grandmother in a small town a hundred miles south of Topeka since. I really don’t have any other relatives except aunt Ellen and Jo.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, sincerely. He was keeping up with your slow pace. “That sounds awful.”

You shook your head. “No, all things considered, I’ve had a good life. Grandma loves me, and she has always reminded me that I am important to her. I know of kids who’ve lived with a full family and felt neglected, like they were never needed.”

When Sam didn’t reply, you turned to see that he was regarding you thoughtfully. “That’s one way to look at it,” he said after a while.

“You would know.”

He shrugged, acknowledging the obvious- you knew about his childhood. You had already reached the park bench. It overlooked a lovely little pond with ducks resting on the fringes.

You huddled in the jacket, drawing all the warmth from it.

“So, you said, you were staying with Ellen just for a while?” He asked, turning to face you with his undivided attention, like it was somehow vital for him to know the answer to that. Meanwhile, you were having a hard time concentrating on the conversation when he was looking at you like that.

You trained your eyes on your fingers which rested in your lap. “Yeah, I’m hoping to hear from a few colleges.”

Sam perked up. “Really?”

You grinned up at him sheepishly. “I was actually hoping to run into you.”

He looked surprised at first, then his gaze turned skywards. “Well, will you look at that, my stars have finally aligned. This really is my night,” he said with a wink and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips.

His eyes softened.

“I’m hoping to get admitted into pre-law for the winter semester. I’m still applying to a few places. And you… well, you seem to have managed to do well for yourself.”

Sam laughed, but there was nothing conceited about it… if anything, he looked slightly embarrassed.

“C’mon,” you goaded, “What’s the secret to making it big?”

He narrowed his eyes, as if choosing his words. “I don’t know if there is a secret. My brother would tell you, I got in because I am the geekiest nerd to ever exist… and as lame as it sounds, he might actually be right.”

You laughed. This was the most that you had laughed in ages. It was just so easy to talk to him.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. For as long as I can remember.” It was the one thing you had wanted with a burning passion.

“And you will be,” he said, simply.

You rubbed your palms against each other for friction, to imbibe some more warmth. Sam’s fingers moved, like he was reaching out. Then he pulled back, as if he thought better of it.

“I know you must have crazy high school girls running after you all the time, but if it’s not too much, will you take a look at my application essays? I don’t know anyone who’s done this before- the whole college thing, I mean- so this would be great help.”

He licked his bottom lip, then gulped. “Of course. It’s the least I can do. You can come by the house anytime you want.” Then he made a big deal of looking behind his back. “I don’t see any crazy high school girls though.”

Laughter sounded behind you, and you immediately recognised Jo’s voice. She must’ve come looking for you.

Sam looked in the direction of the voices, then let out a nervous huff before reaching out for your hand. His palm was rough but also very warm. “Happy average birthday, Y/N,” he whispered. “I’m so very glad to have met you.”

*********************

There was a loud bang and you woke up with a start, your heart hammering out of your chest. You had fallen asleep on the floor right next to your door.

“Sorry!” A voice yelled from outside the door.

You looked around bewildered. Where were you? What was happening?

Oh, this was your new room at Stanford. One easy breath later, it all came crashing down. The class, Sam standing there on the podium, looking at you with shocked eyes.

It had all happened, really happened.

Your hand flew to your chest. You were simply incapable of comprehending this situation… everything was still sharper and clearer… and Sam was here.

There was a knock on the door. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah,” you called back. “Just tired.”

“Whatever,” Meg said, and you heard the sounds of footsteps walking away.

You dragged yourself to the bed and lay on it, wishing that you could just zone out, wishing that you could just go back to being numb. It did not happen.

You spent most of the night blankly staring into space, only falling asleep when the sun came up again. In fact, if you didn’t have to use the bathroom, you wouldn’t have left the bed at all, even on the day that followed.

By Friday evening, the emptiness was eating at your insides so much that you finally decided to dress up and step out of the room. The door to Meg’s room was closed. A small part of you wanted to knock on it and apologise for being so rude, but most of you just wanted to run away from not just yourself but from existence itself.

Stepping outside the apartment and into the meadow seemed to liven your senses in a good way, so you walked out onto the street. It wasn’t to clear your head, more like to fill it with something to think about that wasn’t Sam or the absolute horror you felt about going back to classes.

You had worked your ass off for the past several years, both to earn the money to move, and the LSAT score and scholarship that let you into Stanford, and now you were simply blowing all that off by not attending the classes. In fact each minute of Thursday and Friday had felt like a heavy stone of anxiety slowly lowering itself in your stomach… Each minute that you had missed the classes. However, the thought of facing Sam after what had happened, absolutely petrified you.

Somehow being on the street amidst people who didn’t know you or didn’t care, quieted the storm in your head enough to think things through. You had two options. First to go back to College, and pretend like Sam didn’t exist for you outside the persona of a professor, that he was nothing more than a person you saw each day. That seemed absolutely impossible.

Second option was to run away, far from all of this, far from Sam. Again.

You mulled over to two options again and again, roaming around aimlessly till you were back in front of the apartment gate. Sighing, you pushed it open and found yourself looking at a jolly sight.

Along the parapet of the fountain, sat Kevin with Jack and a couple others. They were laughing about something, in fact, Jack seemed in hysterics. You stopped in your tracks.

Kevin noticed you standing there.

“Hey, Y/N!”

“Hey,” you said, over conscious of the state of your appearance. Your clothes were faded and thanks to the humidity, your hair stuck to your face, greasy and rough at the same time.

“Cas,” Kevin said to the one guy you didn’t know, “This is Y/N!”

“Y/N, this is Castiel,” he added. “You, of course, know Pam.”

Pamela Barnes was the landlord, so you had met her before. What you didn’t know is that everyone just hung out in the evening with her. She lived in one of the ground floor apartments. Easy to keep a watch on everyone like that. From what you knew, she was a bartender in one of the more popular bars in the town.

You said your hellos shyly. The awkward interaction was thankfully interrupted by a pizzaman.

“Oh, wonderful,” Jack exclaimed. “Right on time.”

“I’ll see you guys then,” you said, slowly backing away.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Kevin exclaimed. “The pizza is for everyone.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” Pam said. “It’s our ‘welcome to the apartment’ free pizza ritual.”

“What?” Cas gave her a look. “I didn’t get one!”

Pam kicked him in the shin, and it made you smile. “Of course you did. I just decided to keep it for myself.”

“C’mon, in,” she said, turning towards her flat.

You considered making a run for it, but didn’t see how it would work. Kevin kept you company, prattling on about everyone. Pam had two apartments to herself on the ground floor. With all the walls knocked down, it made one cool living room and three spacious bedrooms. It was a dream house of sorts. The third apartment on the ground floor was empty.

The first and second floor were either university kids or people who worked in the town. There was one married couple who was grossly in love with each other and did not interact with anyone else. And then the three apartments on the third floor. Kevin and Jack Kline, who was majoring in literature from University, lived in the first apartment. Then you and Meg in the flat next to them and opposite to you, lived Castiel Novak, Third year of Med school.

“So, Y/N, how’s Stanford treating you?”

Like a punching bag.

“It’s been good for most part,” you said, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Maybe it was because you were in proper company for the first time in a week or because you hadn’t eaten anything in two days, but the pizza tasted good. The tang of the tomatoes was perfectly balanced by the gooeyness of the cheese.

An involuntary moan left you as you took in another bite and four pairs of eyes turned towards you. You could feel the blood rushing to your face.

“Now that’s how you enjoy pizza,” Jack said. “Y’all don’t know anything about enjoying food. Maybe Y/N could bring some culture to this place. You heathens need it!”

Everyone laughed at that. The knot in your chest loosened.

“Hey, Cas,” Pam called. “Grab that 6 pack on your way from the kitchen.”

“Sure!”

You took another tentative bite of the pizza. It really did taste great.

“Y/N?”

You looked up to see Pam holding a pint over you.

“Er- “

“Here,” Kevin said, handing you a can of coke. “Y/N isn’t much of a drinker.”

“Oh, cool!” nodded Jack. And just like that everyone was okay with it.

You reached out to take the can. “You remembered,” you said through a strangled voice.

Kevin brushed it off with a raise of his shoulders, like it was nothing. “Of course I remembered. We are all so glad that you joined us for dinner, Y/N!”

And he meant it. He really did.

You felt tears press the edges of your eyes. You didn’t know if Kevin noticed, but if he did, he didn’t show it and the conversation flowed around you.

So the second option was out. You couldn’t run away from this. You had yearned for seven years to finally be here, to feel little things, little joys like these… and there was so much more to experience.

That left you with only one alternative… facing Sam. Maybe, just maybe you could manage to live your life without him affecting you like that. Afterall, he was only your professor now, you weren’t expected to interact with him on any level. It was only a matter of two semesters.

“More pizza?” Cas asked kindly and you nodded.

That decided it for you. You were going to take your life in your hands and you were going to walk into that class on Monday morning and never look back.

*************************

A/N 2: The blankness and the bubble that dulls all senses; that’s how I’ve experienced depression. And the sudden sharpness of senses is how I recognised that the worst of it was behind me. Have you guys experienced it differently?

PLEASE let me know what you think of this story?

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

ALLU taglist:

@feelmyroarrrr @gabavaldman @im-a-light-child @cosicas-cuquis @bllyjianne @hoboal87 @i-is-for-inspiring @daughterleftbehind @wackiekebab @mylovelydame21 @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @superbadassnatural @bellastellaluna @babypink224221 @badlittlehabit99 @anathewierdo @sams-bubblegum-bitch @damnitnowimobsessed @fandomoverdose666 @superstarmarvel @atc74 @transparentfestivaltiger @rebel-author-chick @death-unbecomes-you

#sam winchester x reader #reader x sam fluff #sam winchester x reader fluff #lawyer!Sam #professor!Sam #sam winchester AU #Sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #Ana writes ALLU #ALLU part 2 #Ana writes Sam #anawritesspn #anawrites #q

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vulturhythm · 3 years

Text

i’m what’s left when children go to war - one

Pain and panic alike clog Jaskier's throat, welling until he can scarcely breathe for the fear overwhelming his every sense. He has never felt this dread, this terror before - he stumbles, foot catching on a loose brick in the pavement, and nearly collapses, crying out when he catches himself just in time to keep running, running, running...

The streets of Athens are black as pitch, torches and great vases of fire doing little to illuminate the spaces through which he flees - black as pitch and silent, too, their quiet broken only by his screams and sobs and pleas for help. They all go unanswered... have been unanswered from the start, for who would spare a second's thought of mercy for a simple slave? He's nothing more than filth to the people safe in their houses, safe away from the monster chasing short at his heels. Of course he'd ran toward the wealthier part of the city, of course he'd ran straight into the realm of the very people who despise his kind above all else -

He trips again, and this time he doesn't quite manage to catch himself in time. Jaskier collapses to the cobbled pavement with another cry, the impact on his knees and palms sending spikes of discomfort up through his frame, and before he can drag himself upright once more, the monster is atop him, grabbing him by the shoulder, the waist, the hips, pushing and pulling and turning, and Jaskier yells out another plea for help as those vicious hands flip him to his back again, as those violating hands grab for his arms, and Jaskier curses aloud and kicks out blindly, and he takes only fleeting relief in the grunt of pain he gets when his foot connects - only fleeting, for it is dashed away in a heartbeat -

for the monster is pinning him by the throat to the road, is leering down at him with a face twisted with cruel victory, and Jaskier grabs for the monster's wrist and tries to pry his hand away, but it is too strong, has always been too strong, and as Jaskier screams out again, the monster reaches into the folds of its chiton, draws a dagger that glints bright in the distant firelight, and -

Pain worse than that of before explodes from the epicenter of Jaskier's torso, and his scream echoes high and cracked and afraid as his hands fly to grab for the base of the dagger plunged deep into his flesh. The monster above him merely smiles, holding him firm for another eternity until the world is fading into gray, his lungs heaving for air that he can't quite draw, his grip going weak... and then, just as Jaskier is certain he will die here, pinned beneath his rapist, the monster lets go, ripping the dagger free with a savage twist that tears another scream from Jaskier's aching throat.

As the cry dies off, the monster turns to leave.

He has the strength to do little more than lay there limp at first, sucking in air even though the very act of breathing sends unthinkable pain through his bleeding torso. Staring up at the star-flecked sky, he feels his blood flowing hot and wet and free through his fingers, pressed as tightly as he can manage to the uneven hole. He wants nothing more than to die... and yet - and yet he knows that he cannot.

Jaskier is certain he has never before been so broken, so afraid, as when he forces his body back into motion, turning onto his knees and steadying himself with a single hand on the cobblestone. He coughs, hardly even taken aback by his own blood when it splatters from his lips onto the pavement beneath him. Though his head is spinning, he pushes himself up, first to both knees, then one, then upright; here he staggers, the world swaying around him, or is he swaying in the world? It's difficult to tell - difficult to tell much of anything when colors are going pale and lines are going blurry... but he cannot die. He lurches into motion, both hands clasped together against the wound in an attempt to stop the flow.

Even now, he knows his efforts are in vain.

He grits his teeth until they ache as he stumbles forward along the path, every stride uneven, every stride unbelievably agonizing. It feels as though his innards have been torn and ground to bits, as though they're leaking out between his shaking fingers along with his life force, and it feels as though his hips and thighs will splinter apart with the weight of each step, as though they'll simply crumble to dust under the abuse... but he cannot die. Jaskier calls out again, high and broken, begging for somebody, anybody to take mercy, and he feels a hint of vengeance twist its way into his heart when only the quiet of the Athens aristocracy answers him. He should not - cannot - be surprised. Of course they would turn a blind eye to anything that does not involve themselves.

For all that he was frantic and running blind before, Jaskier knows where he runs toward now - has known it since the moment he pushed himself to shaking feet. If he can only make it there, if he can only last long enough to claim sanctuary and beg for help, maybe he stands a fighting chance. Maybe his life can be spared... maybe it is not quite too late.

Jaskier feels as though he's already dead by the time he turns the corner onto another wide avenue, by the time he lifts his head and looks forward to the massive structure at its end. Torches are lit on the outer walls, and warm light falls onto the steps from the interior. For the first time, a glimmer of hope lights itself in Jaskier's chest; he stumbles once again in his efforts to move faster, nearly doubling over with another coughing fit that sprays his blood onto the pavement. Someone will be displeased with that, he thinks, brief and wild, able to imagine the disgruntled face of a wealthy man when he must walk around a splash of servant's blood come dawn. I'll have to clean it up...

He pushes these thoughts aside when he comes up to the steps, drawing in what little air his burning lungs can hold to cry out once more - a plea for sanctuary, for help, for someone to hear him -

and as he takes the first step, he sees a shadow cast on the walls inside move, take interest, and he dares to hope, and he begs aloud again -

and as he takes the second step, he hears a startled voice, and the embers of maybe flash brighter -

and as he takes the third step -

as he takes the third step, he doubles forward again, another fit of coughing spraying his blood onto the marble, and as he tries to recover, as he tries to lift his head and press on forward, he overbalances, and he slips, and he falls.

Pain shoots through his skull, and brightness flares across his vision in the instant before his world goes black.

A vulture perched upon the temple's roof watches, head cocked in its usual sardonic way, as the slave's skull cracks and bleeds on the edge of the next step - as Jaskier goes still, scarcely breathing, upon the threshold of the temple of Ares.

- - -

The realm of Ares is much the same as that of all the rest, albeit grimmer for its context. A sprawling Athenian estate dominates its bulk, but where the homes of Aphrodite or even Apollo are bright in palette, Ares' is dimmer, every color seeming duller, and where theirs are built of marble, Ares' is built of whitewashed stone. Where gold adorns the corners and detailing of the other gods' dwellings, simple silver plates Ares'. The gardens and wandering stream throughout the courtyard are less vibrant than those that can be found elsewhere, almost as if the somber nature of Ares' dominion has reached the plants themselves, stunting their growth with shared sorrow and mourning. Even the land upon which the aristocratic home rests is duller than the rest, trees less impressive, grass less green.

No matter. It is, for better or for worse, a house - Ares hesitates to call it a home.

He hesitates, in fact, to even call himself Ares, for the deity that first held the name has been among Elysium for many centuries now. Not that the mortals know any better, of course... he didn't, either, not when he was alive. How many decades has it been? Four, five, since he was blessed to take over the godly throne? Enough that he no longer remembers the name of the woman from whom he took the mantle. Blessed. He scoffs at the thought. No... no one who knew the truth would ever call godhood a blessing.

He is so accustomed to the sound of the veil being rent apart that he gives it little thought when the dull hiss and rush of air signifies the arrival of the keres. It is an almost daily occurrence, for the androktasiai do not rest, their cruel wiles unending; but, he thinks, as he sets his book aside and makes to stand from his chair, he does not recall sensing a current war...

"My liege," comes a familiar voice, and he turns, forcing only the barest smile for the spirit he considers a friend before he's fully facing the keres. "We bring an unusual soul before you today."

It is on the tip of his tongue to say something nonchalant and bitter - I have seen every possible manner of death thus far, Renfri, I doubt you can surprise me - but as his eyes drop to the body cradled in the ker's arms, he stalls, freezing in place.

He has seen much, yes - has seen heads crushed under horse's hooves, has seen throats torn and gaping, has seen torsos riddled with arrows and pierced through with spears and swords - and he has grown... not accustomed to, but acquainted with the hideous cruelty of war. Many soldiers are young, many cut down before they're truly given the chance to live; he is no stranger to the sight of ruined armor and frightened eyes overflowing with tears. He is, after all, the god of war. Soldiers' deaths are everyday to him.

This... this boy held close to Renfri's chest... he wears no armor. He scarcely wears even his tunic, the swath of fabric torn in such a way that looks as if a wild thing set its claws to the cloth; what remains is soaked through with blood. His head is resting limp on Renfri's shoulder, dark hair tousled and matted with blood that runs steadily from a fissure in his skin and skull.

He is not a soldier.

"What is this?" the god of war asks sharply, stepping forward. At Renfri's back and flanks, the other keres edge backward, respectful of the anger they no doubt sense building in his chest. "This isn't a soldier, you've brought me a boy, for how old he looks - I haven't laid a claim on anyone, why are you wasting his dying seconds here?"

Renfri cuts him off before he can launch into another tirade, sounding impossibly patient, a little condescending; just as always, he subsides. "He fell upon your temple stairs."

With that, he goes still, golden eyes going wide as they rest on the youth's face, pallid with the grave. Dread overpowers anger, and in an instant, he feels nothing more than fear. He had hoped - had prayed, as idiotic as that was - that he would never be faced with this instance. Who would seek out Ares for sanctuary? Who would trust the god of war with their lives? "No," he says aloud. "No. I won't - I won't claim him."

"You have no choice," Renfri reminds him. "If it's revealed that he sought sanctuary before the judges, he will be sent back to you regardless."

He grits his jaw, sparing the briefest of glares for the russet-haired woman as his fingers knot into fists at his sides. It is easy, now, to turn away dying soldiers, to promise them rest in Elysium - even when he can sense the evil rolling off their skin, even when he knows it to be a lie. Standing here, a gods-damned youth presented before him, soul ripe for the taking, he struggles to find within himself the strength to resist. He knows he will never pass on the mantle of war, knows he will never subject another soul to the horrors to which he's adjusted... knows there will be no point in accepting the young thing.

No point, and yet... and yet he can at least offer a place of comfort, the solace of company, for the boy's eternal rest.

"Give him to me," he grits out at last, his tone as neutral as he can make it. "Let me hold him."

Renfri complies immediately, as she always does, stepping forward to meet him with outstretched arms. He takes the boy from her protective cradle with practiced care, sinking to his knees that he might hold the boy closer still. He is not surprised when the young thing stirs, a whimper of protest rising in his throat; he is, however, surprised when that bleeding head tips sideways to rest against his chest. He is afraid.

"Can you hear me, young one?" the god of war whispers, grimacing at the feel of blood-drenched fabric on his hands. He readjusts his grip to be as delicate as possible, knowing that the boy's pain will soon cease forever - he can sense no aura of hatred, although... although there is something else, something unique, new. "You are safe now."

As weak as the little thing is, trembling and limp in his embrace, it startles him when heavy eyelashes begin to flutter open, and startles him even further when the shade of blue revealed beneath seems brighter, purer, than even the clearest of skies, for all that they are hazy with death's fog. "Can you speak? I would like your name, if you feel it fit to tell."

He expects no response, but one comes regardless, after a pause that hangs heavy in the air with confusion and pain. "Jaskier," murmurs the boy, and his voice is so subdued, so broken... so afraid, and yet so different to the fear of all the soldiers the god rejects day by day, so different to the terror of death... so beautiful. "My... my name is Jaskier."

The boy's voice cracks there, and the god steadies him as best he can, freeing a hand to brush those matted locks of deep brown aside. Something in his chest goes tight when the boy - Jaskier - tips his head into the touch and lets his eyes drift shut again, so clearly dazed, desperate for kindness. Jaw firm, he lifts his head, meeting Renfri's gaze. "Who killed him?" The question is simple, direct. This was a murder... and part of his steel heart rages at the thought of anyone or anything slaughtering a creature this beautiful, this fragile.

Here, Renfri's own face shutters, and she reaches up to remove the hound's head helmet she wears, balancing it in her arms. There is something new in her eyes, something tense and vicious... a memory. "One of my women saw him fleeing after he was stabbed," she says, her eyes dropping to Jaskier. "She said that the man turned and ran before she could properly see, but he had been chasing the boy for quite some time, she guesses."

"He was nearly inside your temple, my liege," another ker speaks up from Renfri's side; the god's gaze flicks sideways to her. "He was coughing his blood onto the stairs when he slipped and fell... lost his balance, no doubt. His skull... I do believe he is to die immediately."

The war god's face is impassive, though his spirit aches. So close to sanctuary... so close to salvation... and yet, cursed now... your pain will cease, but your suffering will not...

Another weak sound from the boy in his arms draws him back to the present, and he brushes his fingers through those locks again, holding bright blue eyes as they open again. "What happened to you?" he asks him, running his fingertips along the edges of the split in Jaskier's skin. The boy flinches, then stills, no doubt too overwhelmed to feel any specific source of agony. "What do you remember?"

Jaskier is quiet, those eyes fading with every labored breath he draws. Conflict is plain in his gaze, in the way he looks away, up to the ceiling overhead. Another broken noise catches halfway up his throat when he shifts in the god's embrace, pressing his hand more firmly to the wound in his torso. "He chased me," he murmurs at last, "once he was done... threatened to kill me if - if I told a soul... I ran, I didn't - I thought I could make it somewhere safe i - in time..."

Confusion must flicker in the god's eyes, for Jaskier's face pinks with shame even through the pallor of death. The boy says nothing more, and the god lifts his eyes once more. "He was assaulted otherwise, my liege," Renfri explains before he can open his mouth to ask, and the edge in her tone - sorrow, empathy, memory - sends yet another arrow through his heart. "... Taken, and not for the first time, either."

Her meaning dawns at the same time Jaskier all but recoils from the words, drawing closer into the god's chest with a wounded noise. At once, the unfamiliar aura he felt makes sense - it is the brush of evil against purity, the effects of cruelty upon the innocence of youth. Something vicious snarls to life deep within his chest, something feral and full of hate for the mortals whose lives he is meant to end. Never before has he more sincerely wished to send war across the lands, that he might get some gods-damned rest. Not for the first time... what have they done to you, little thing?

"You're alright now," he murmurs aloud, his hand coming to cup Jaskier's face; when the boy noses into the hollow of his wrist, steady trembling abating some, his heart aches properly. It's a strange feeling. "You're alright, beautiful one, you're safe here... you will be safe here."

He senses, more than sees, the keres stir, interest piqued. He spares them not a glance.

"Where?" Jaskier is asking, his voice weaker than before. It is easy to tell he will not last much longer. "Where... am I...?"

The god softens then, and he brushes a thumb across the boy's cheekbone, across that smooth, perfect skin. Those brilliant blue eyes flutter, resting at half-mast as Jaskier relaxes into the repetitive motion. "You're in the realm of a god," he murmurs. "You are dying, young one. You've got but a heartbeat left, I believe..."

Fear flickers through those eyes, and he is quick to speak on, keeping his touch just as delicate as before, unfamiliar though it is. "You've nothing to fear. The judges will find you pure, and they will send you back here to live with me - back here for me to protect you."

"You - who are you?" Jaskier asks, and though the fear has faded back into confusion, he sounds... tranquil. It is easy enough to imagine that even the thought of death is better than that of returning to his prior life.

It is that tranquility that convinces the god to shift his touch lower, to press the pad of his thumb into the hollow of the boy's sternum, exposed through the tears in his tunic. Jaskier winces, but protests not, relaxing again nearly immediately; he is too weak to fight. The god of war watches as a simple black design twines itself onto bare skin, bold at first, then fading to nothing: a hound's skull, Ares' claim. "You know me as Ares," he says aloud, "but my name is Geralt."

"Geralt," he murmurs, soft and low. The name sounds enchanting upon his lips, strained though his voice may be. "I'll come back to you...?"

Geralt nods, returning his grip to Jaskier's jaw; he cannot help but smile, faint and barely-there, when the little thing tilts his head back into the touch immediately. So starved for kindness... so starved for help. "You will come back to me," he replies quietly. "You've nothing to fear."

Standing above them, the keres are growing restless; Geralt can sense their anticipation rising. He glances up to Renfri, poised and waiting; when he looks back down, those blue eyes have nearly faded entirely. "You can let go," he tells the boy, as gently as he knows how. "I will be here waiting."

Jaskier says nothing more, too weak to muster words, but something almost like... like peace glints in his eyes. Just as Geralt grows used to the sight, those eyes gloss over entirely, that slender frame going still. The god heaves a sigh, and looks up to Renfri. She is reaching out already, hand open for the wisps of golden smoke that are rising from the boy's parted lips. Geralt watches in silence as the wisps twine themselves about her forearm, the image of dandelions printing brightly upon her skin before disappearing from view.

"You've chosen well," Renfri murmurs, backing off a stride as Geralt lowers Jaskier's corpse and stands. In mere minutes, it will fade, too. "It does you no good, dwelling here alone."

"I don't need your words of pity," he tells her quietly, already turning away. "Go, now. I trust we'll meet again soon."

He does not have to look to know that Renfri rolls her eyes, nor to know that the keres' bodies shift, women morphing into carrion hounds and vultures alike. The veil is torn once more, and the keres slip through; only a moment later, the room goes still.

Geralt is alone.

#when children go to war #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #greek god au #greek mythology au #my fics

35 notes · View notes

1kook · 5 years

Text

baecation

Jeon Jeongguk x (F) Reader

summary⥗“Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart. tags⥗richboy!jk, -3 knowledge of how vacations work, domestic love!!!, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, fingering, jk’s white ass cheeks mention wc⥗5.9k u ever randomly get inspired for the first time in 2 months and write a whole fic in one night anyway enjoy

There were many perks to dating the heir of your city’s top conglomerate, the endless showering of gifts being one of them, but your favorite thing about your boyfriend wasn’t his overflowing pockets or his secure future, but the lovesick look in his eyes when you told him how much you loved him.

Jeongguk was an enigma.

He was born to be the stereotypical rich boy that authors of teen fiction could only dream of, his looks suitable for magazine covers and his brains destined for top-notch universities. His bloodline was carefully crafted by generations before him, every marriage carefully planned and executed with the ultimate goal to preserve their place in society as apex predators. In fact, Jeongguk’s entire life had been one big script his family had carefully pushed him along, from the fencing classes he took to the hiring of the nation’s best nannies to care for him, all subtle enough for him to not complain but demanding enough that he knew what was going on.

The only thing they hadn’t planned in Jeongguk’s life was him meeting you.

They had never planned for him to meet some middle-class girl, who was definitely not an heiress to any particular company or celebrity of any level, just some random girl he had accidentally bumped into leaving a charity event at the local community park. They hadn’t planned for his long, gangly arms to knock your phone out of your hand, or send it tumbling into the lake as you both watched on in horror. It was only after the quiet plop of water registered in both your ears that you had whirled on him, half of you in shock and the other in fury.

Jeongguk was, as previously stated, handed everything on a silver platter. His parents hardly bothered with teaching him how to do things. He barely understood how to work a washing machine, because all of that was done for him by other people. At the moment, he didn’t have to bother with taking an entrance exam to the best university this side of the country because he knew his parents would pay for the entire thing out of pocket. He especially didn’t ever have to worry about what to do when random girls scolded him in public sight, because frankly, it would never happen.

Yet here he was, completely startled as you told him to watch where he was going, and to learn how to apologize to people when you’ve done something wrong. He’d never had someone of a lower status than him treat him so aggressively before, and when you pause to catch your breath all he can stumble out is that he’ll replace your phone, he’ll even buy you the best model, what was your number so his people could reach out to you again?

The last sentence has you groaning in frustration, as you pointed furiously towards the lake, because how on earth was he supposed to contact you when your phone was 20 feet below surface level?!

After another fifteen minutes of you continuing your verbal rampage against him, the entirety of it which he’d spent fending off his security guard and his assistant (both who’d been appalled that he’d willingly let this peasant swear and curse at him) as he stared at you in awe.

When you finally calmed down and he’d offered to take you to the Starbucks across the street to figure out the details of your phone replacement, he’s surprised to find out your normal disposition is nothing like the one you’d first shown him. In fact, you’re rather sheepish and embarrassed at the coffee shop, albeit still a little upset with him for trashing your phone.

After you’ve finished nailing out the little details of your phone replacement, which included you hesitantly giving him your address, he leaves right away. He’s sad to leave so soon, having become completely enthralled with your entire being in the thirty minutes he’s come to know you, that he finds himself hopelessly staring out of the backseat of the Benz as he travels back to his upscale apartment in the heart of the city. He hopes you don’t forget him so soon.

To say you’re surprised to see a package on your doorstep the next morning is an understatement. You remember every online purchase you make, and if memory serves you right, you hadn’t made one in the past month to warrant its arrival today. After glancing down both ends of your hall, you tug the mystery package inside.

In hindsight you probably should have been more cautious of the entire situation, but part of you was extremely curious to see what brought this surprise on. After tugging the tape off and shuffling through the packing peanuts you’re met with a sleek box for the hottest and most expensive phone right now, a pink bow carefully tied around to secure a note.

One of our guard’s fished around the lake for the phone I misplaced and managed to retrieve the memory card. I hope you won’t mind the new contact I added.

Best,

Jeon Jeongguk

And thus was the start of your love story.

You’re wondering if Jeongguk’s sudden idea was truly a spur of the moment epiphany or another ploy for him to get out of going to the ball his father had planned at the end of this month. You’ve come to learn in the last two years that despite his perfect boy aura, he was quite the impulsive shithead. Eitherway, you know he would have invited you to wherever he was going, and if he hadn’t, his mother would have shipped you a gown from her favorite designer and asked you to drag him there.

As it stands, it’s not a fancy ball you’re preparing for this time around, but a luxurious spring break in the Bahamas, away from school and family and anything to ruin your mood for the next week. You’d just finished your midterms when he bursts into your dorm room, demanding you pack your bags, baby, we’re going to the beach! Evidently, it was not the local beach you were going to. No, the ‘beach’ Jeongguk had referred to was one he conveniently forgot to mention was an entire plane ride away. It wasn’t until he returned later that same day to usher you off to the airport that he realizes how sorely under packed you are.

So now here you were, frantically cramming a week’s worth of cute, summer-y clothes into the only suitcase you own, running back and forth from your closet to the suitcase to the desk where you kept all your beauty products and shower essentials, while your boyfriend ate one of your granola bars on your bed.

“You better not get any crumbs on the bed, you know I hate finding them later,” you scold, not even bothering to look at him as you stuff all your makeup into a small bag.

Jeongguk snorts. “You won’t even be sleeping here for a week, babe,” he says, voice calm and relaxed in the way only someone who’s already done packing can be. The only consolation to your current state was that Jeongguk had booked his family’s private jet, so you really couldn’t be late to a flight only the two of you would be on.

You turn around with a hand on your hip, giving him the same unimpressed look you always do when he’s being unreasonable. “I’m sure the mice you’re attracting will keep it warm for me.” He rolls his eyes, finishing off his snack and then making a big show of patting down your creaky mattress to rid it of any granola crumbs.

He’s settled back into the bed when he speaks again. “Take the orange crop top you bought from Forever 21 last month, it makes your boobs looks amazing.”

You tuck your socks and undergarments against the suitcase’s inner pocket. “Oh right, ‘cause that’s a priority right now.” You don’t wanna tell him it’s already folded against your other clothes because you, too, think it makes your boobs look amazing.

You hear the rustling of the bed sheets once more, before you see his long legs come to a rest around you, arms wrapping around your waist to watch you ruffle through the clothing you already have. “Not my fault my girl’s got a nice set on her.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you beg, reaching over to your pile of haphazardly thrown shorts and skirts to fold some more into your luggage. You’re careful of not moving far enough away that his arms would dislodge from their embrace. “We could have been halfway to the Bahamas right now if someone bothered to plan things ahead of time and not last minute as a means to get out of a charity ball.”

Jeongguk groans, letting his head fall forward to rest against your back, his soft breath leaving your back warm through your t-shirt. “Can’t a guy just steal his girlfriend away to the Bahamas for a week to avoid the overwhelming stress of life, and maybe choke on some exotic shrimp while she chokes on his di—”

“Get off of me, you pervert!”

The second you step foot on the archipelago that is the gem of the resort world, it’s about seven thousand degrees hotter than it was back home, and the sweat on the back of your neck can attest to that. The jet ride here had been pretty fun, it being your first experience flying private, but also flying in general. Jeongguk had kept you entertained both on the take off and landing, lips kissing down every inch of your neck with a promise for more later.

Well, it was later now, and the need to be sated was still present, something you’re not quite sure your boyfriend was aware of. Jeongguk was like that. Forgetful as fuck. The only reason he ever got anything done was because he had that assistant of his practically glued to his hip at every moment of the day, breathing down his neck every task he needed to complete. If it was up to Jeongguk, and Jeongguk alone, things would get done at a very slow pace.

But you were nothing like your boyfriend, and you suppose it’s why you two go together so well. While he put things to the side, you needed everything to be done right away and fast. Which is why you find yourself pulling him away from the scuba diving kiosk in an effort to check into your high-end cottage away from all the tourist hub.

“Babeee,” he whines, almost forgetting his luggage for the nth time, not used to actually having to haul his things by himself. “We could have seen the reef! You know, where all the fish are at? Where Nemo lives.”

“Uh huh, that’s nice,” you say, finding the driver Jeongguk’s assistant (bless his uptight, perfectionist ass) had booked for your arrival. “But we need to check in first and make sure our rental is all good.”

He seems miffed about the fact people actually have to do that, and had it not been his status as a trust-fund baby funding this entire trip, you would have liked to sock him right in the nose. But he’s your boyfriend and you’re used to his somewhat clueless ways by now, so you let it go.

You don’t know what you expected his assistant to rent out for you guys, but it certainly wasn’t the swanky beach house your driver pulls up to. It’s carefully secluded from the other houses around it, a high hedge-turned-fence surrounding the private yard. It hides a decent sized pool, a few lawn-chairs, and a hot tub from the public beach down below. The house itself is marvelous, complete with multiple bedrooms, two baths, and the most luxurious kitchen you’ve ever seen in a beach house.

“Oh,” you say upon stepping out of the car, mouth agape as you take in the sight of your accommodation for the next few days.

A pair of hands snake around your waist before carefully coming to rest above your navel. Jeongguk presses a gentle kiss to your temple, murmuring, “all for you, princess.” The waves crashing against the beach below are miniscule compared to the sudden blossoming of warmth in your chest.

“Shut up,” you shyly whine, turning around to envelope him in your arms. Your need for him and his body fades at the breathtaking sight behind you, and you find yourself forgetting about it completely as you venture around the house.

It’s the same day when you decide to go out into the yard and tan for a bit. Jeongguk had went in for a nap, a little tired from keeping you entertained on the long flight, because he’d stayed awake even when you fell asleep just in case you woke up scared. You don’t try to discourage him, watching him snuggle into the king mattress as you shuffle around for your bikini.

You’re absentmindedly applying another layer of sunscreen to your face, sunglasses pushed onto the top of your head. You’re completely enveloped by thoughts of your boyfriend, of how he could have easily ran off to the Bahamas alone (he went to Moscow last November on a trip to ‘find himself’), but he’d elected to whisk you off with him.

You tuck your AirPods—another gift from him—into your ears before finally settling into the comfort of a lounge chair, the sun’s rays beating down on you full force. It feels wonderful being away from everything you know with the comfort of returning. You’d always dreamt of visiting such places as a teenager, the presence of a lover or not, but now you truly got to live out those fantasies with Jeongguk.

He was a dream.

It’s about thirty minutes into your session when you register the sound of the sliding door, and you crack one eye open to see your refreshed boyfriend wandering into the backyard in a pair of swimming trunks and a goofy look on his face. “Oh, pardon me, I didn’t know such women came to the public pool,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes, not that he sees through the shades protecting you. “Don’t you dare try to roleplay with me, weirdo.”

He cackles, before somersaulting into the pool, and you find yourself squealing at the splash he makes. He disappears for a second under the water, but then pops back up at the ledge closest to you. “Come on, don’t be a pussy. Play along and maybe we’ll go to the spa tomorrow morning,” he offers.

“Fine.” You decide to join him, but not because the spa.

Jeongguk laughs at your petulant tone of voice, before sprawling out to float across the surface of the pool. “Great, so here’s what I was thinking. Me, the rich middle-aged husband coming here strictly for business. And you, the shy darling relaxing by the pool with her girlfriends who are all pushing her to go talk to me.”

“Sounds perfect, except for the part where I’m actually the sly minx coming here to scam a rich college boy out of his money, luring him into the most pleasurable sex he’s ever had, before ghosting him for all eternity and leaving him forever waiting for someone like me to come into his life again,” you propose.

Jeongguk blinks. “Wow, that sounded so realistic. You’re either really good at this, or… I should be worried,” he playfully accuses, before throwing over a gesture that says im watching you. You laugh.

“Just keep swimming, rich boy.”

He does as you tell him, playing in the water as you tune back into the music drifting into your ears. You’re about done tanning the front side of your body, and flip over to make sure your backside catches the rays as well. You set your sunglasses off to the side, and when you look back for them they’re adorning Jeongguk’s silly face as he doggy paddles around the donut floaty he found.

“Untie your top, dumby. Unless you want those ugly tan lines,” Jeongguk calls out in that brash tone of his. You flip him the bird, before sitting up in a very Ariel-esque pose to glance around your private yard.

As if sensing your hesitation, Jeongguk paddles over to your side, leveling you with an unimpressed look. “These bushes are as tall as a door, and there’s no one around for the next half mile, babe. Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.”

He truly knew the way to your heart.

You untie the knots at your back and your neck, carefully laying back down to get that perfect tan Jeongguk was talking about. Admittedly, you do feel a bit better knowing you won’t return home with noticeable tan lines, and that much is enough to have your topless self blissfully relaxing.

Your soundtrack is the playlist you had collected on the plane ride, occasionally joined by the splashing Jeongguk makes as he moves around the pool, and before you know it, your timer is ringing to let you know it’s time to flip over again. This time, you’re less hesitant about shedding your top, breasts bare to the sky as you throw the top over your eyes (guess where your sunglasses still where).

You hear a wolf whistle from the other side of the yard, and catch sight of Jeongguk sitting at the edge of the pool. His skin is glistening from the water, the sun enveloping him in its warmth. He’d been outside for a shorter time than you but somehow he’d accumulated a darker color faster. The sun loved him like no other. He’s pushing himself to his feet when he catches your gaze, mischievous smirk twisting his features as he rounds the pool.

“Didn’t know this was a nude beach,” he says, and you curse your body for the way it reacts to the sight of his messy hair and tone abdomen. Your nipples harden embarrassingly and you can’t even hide them.

“Tired already?” You muse instead, hoping he doesn’t comment on the state of your breasts. “Tired after a plane ride, tired after swimming. Didn’t know I was dating an old man.”

“Har har,” he says in a monotone voice, and you can’t help the curl of a smile at beating him at his own playful ways. He stops in front of you, and your expression is knocked clean off when the water droplets clinging to his body fall onto your warm skin.

“Jeongguk!” You whine, pushing him away with your foot in a valiant effort to save yourself from the cold water. If anything, your actions end up bringing your demise as he catches your ankle in his hand.

“Ah ah, princess,” he tuts, bending your leg upward only to place his knee where it once was. He ducks down to tower over you, your continuous squealing only bringing an evil smile to his face. “What did we say about tan lines?”

You push him away, groaning in defeat as his hair drips even more water onto your skin. “I took the top off, what now?”

He glances down, and for a moment, you’re confused as to what he sees that you don’t. You're only met with the sight of your yellow bikini bottom preserving the last of your dignity.

You scoff. “You’re kidding.”

Much to your chagrin, he’s not.

“You’re on one of the nicest islands in the world, staying in a private home with fences tall enough to stop Bigfoot from looking in, and you’re gonna tan with your bikini bottoms on? You’re ridiculous.”

You shove his shoulder, before resigning yourself to getting soaked by him as he shuffles around to squish you under his weight. “You’re ridiculous for thinking I’d be outside without any clothes on!”

He snorts against your shoulder, long arms moving around until he has one somewhat curled beneath you. “Nah. You are.”

“Don’t start with me, Jeon.”

He shifts again to look you in the eye. “Come on, ___. You’re really gonna get tan lines when you could avoid them?”

You roll yours eyes. “You couldn’t get me to go outside completely naked for a million bucks, baby.” The beginning of a grin curls around his lips. “Don’t even think about it.”

This brings a laugh out of him, before he’s laying back down to kiss your neck. “You’re silly.” All you can really hope for now is that him laying on top of you won’t give you an even worse tan line.

Just when you think he’s given up on his quest to have you completely naked outside, you feel the slightest tug on the tie holding your bikini in place, slapping your hand down on his as if he were a pesky fly. “Fine!” He huffs, rolling off you to jump back into the water. “I hope everyone sees your uneven tan.”

“No one would see a tan line on my coochie, Jeon,” you remind him, flinching when he decides to cannonball into the water right beside you, sprinkling you in another round of water pellets.

He emerges from the clear water a moment later, paddling to the ledge beside you to flick more water your way. “I will,” he retorts. “When I got you bent over tomorrow morning.”

You don’t hesitate to fling your bikini top his way, the yellow fabric smacking him across the face. “In that case, you should take those shorts off, because I certainly don’t wanna have to look at your pasty thighs.”

“You love my milky thighs,” he hums, traversing the length of the pool for his donut floaty again.

“Milky?”

Your tiny quarrel ends there, Jeongguk soon becoming too immersed in competing against himself in a breath-holding contest to bother you any longer. He’s adorable like this, cheeks puffed out like Mrs. Puff every time his head pops out of the water, that you almost forget to flip over when your timer rings again.

It’s in the midst of your repositioning that you dare take a peak beneath your bottoms. Much to your disdain, there is a growing disparity between the skin beneath your swimsuit and the skin around it. Nothing too bad, but if you were to lay out as long as you planned, it’d become embarrassingly noticeable. Your breasts had been saved from any differences thanks to Jeongguk’s early warning, and you begin wondering if shedding your bottoms would inflate his already huge ego.

No matter, you discreetly unknot the ties securing your bottoms, hoping he won’t notice from across the yard as you carefully slip them off.

You make quick work of laying on your stomach again, your ass finally catching some rays after being covered for so long. You won’t lie, there’s an unexpected wave of comfort that comes with being bare outside, your entire body wonderfully enveloped by the sun’s beaming rays. You snuggle into the lounge chair’s cushions as you nearly reach nirvana.

Your blissful state is ruined not even ten minutes later when the sound of Jeongguk’s heavy splashing comes closer and closer. It’s not until you hear the splat of his wet feet against the pavement that you realize you’re in trouble.

There’s a playful smack against your ass, and you yelp in surprise. “Jeon!” You whine, instantly sitting up on your forearms to narrow your eyes at him. He’s flashing you that playful grin of his as he plops down beside you, not even having to ask you to move over because you do so subconsciously

“Knew you’d give in eventually,” he sighs, leaning back on his palms as he tries to catch his breath. You decide to give up on your dreams of having a peaceful tanning session, turning around to face your glistening boyfriend.

“What do you want for lunch?” You ask instead, running a hand through the hair at the nape of your neck, rolling your shoulders around to get some movement back into them. He shrugs, slithering his way up the cushions to squish himself beside you. It’s a tight fit, but he makes it easier by throwing your leg over his middle.

“Probably some good food in the little village a mile from here. Could probably walk there too.” You hum in agreement, snuggling into his side. You’ve long since gotten over the coldness of his skin, cheek pressed against his chest. He’s got a hand on your lower back, partially to hold you close but also to stop you from rolling off the chair.

Right as your snoozing off, so wonderfully warm beneath the sun and comfortable in your birthday suit, you feel a pair of fingers brush against the backside of your thigh, and then ghost over your exposed pussy.

“You’re despicable,” you murmur, tweaking his nipple between your fingers. Jeongguk snickers, shifting you around so you’re mostly on top of him now, your awakened core pressed against his thigh.

“C’mon, princess,” he goads, running a pair of moist fingers along your thigh again, trying to carefully coax you into doing what he wants. Most things, you now realize, tend to go Jeongguk’s way regardless of other factors. “No one’ll hear us out here.”

“But what if someone does,” you point out, always the voice of reason when it comes to Jeongguk’s ideas. “We could get in trouble, Guk. I don’t know…”

“In trouble for what?” Is his smart rebuttal, shuffling beneath you so you can finally feel the swollen cock hiding beneath his swimming trunks. “Enjoying ourselves in our own home? Oh, the terror.” Upon seeing the uncertainty that still clings to your features, he drops the somewhat cocky attitude to press a kiss to your nose. “It’s all good, princess,” he soothes, ducking down to caress the side of your face with his cherried lips. “If anything, I’ll just bribe our way out of any trouble.”

“Ugh,” you groan, melting into him as you finally give in. “I hate when you say that.”

Jeongguk snuffles a laugh against your jaw, maneuvering the two of you around until you’re laid flat against the cushion with him hovering over you. “When I say what?” He teases. “That my wallet is as fat as my cock?”

You roll your eyes, untying the knot he’d done at the front of his shorts. “Get that fat cock of yours out before I change my mind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he complies, setting one foot on the floor to push his shorts down, until you’re met with the sight of his stark thighs. You cackle, and his arrogant smirk is wiped off as he glances down at his two-toned legs.

“What happened to getting the perfect tan?” You sneer, tapping a finger against his muscled thighs. “Don’t tell me your ass is this white, too.”

He huffs in annoyance, before reclaiming his spot between your legs again, tugging you down until your cores are pressed together. “Shut up.” You do as he says, words catching in your throat at the feeling of his engorged cock brushing against your wet folds.

His slips a hand down to languidly toy with your folds, his fingers slightly pruny from all the time he spent in the water. It feels a little weird, but any complaints you may have had are wiped away when he nudges your bud with the tip of his pointer finger. You gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders at the sudden stimulation against your core. “Ohh,” you sigh, eyes rolling backwards.

“Feel good?” He checks, eyes trained on your expressions, lips unconsciously puckering to kiss you, even with your writhing beneath him. You let out a high-pitched mewl, much to your embarrassment, cheeks flushed warm from the sun and his ministrations. You nod belatedly.

He lets his wandering hands carry on, carefully travelling across the entirety of your folds. He knows your body like no other, so familiar with the dips and curves, that it’s impossible for him to not immediately locate your g-spot upon plunging his fingers inside you. “G-Guk!” you cry out, hands falling to grip at his biceps.

He presses a kiss to your throat. “That’s it, baby, lemme hear you,” he murmurs, and subtly presses his cock to the inside of your thigh. “Looked so delicious out here,” he sighs, and it’s as if he’s talking to himself. “Wanted to fuck your pretty little pussy from the second I stepped outside.”

Your back arches beneath him at a particular scissor of his fingers, another whine caught in your throat. “Want you so bad,” you whimper, reaching a hand up to tangle in his dark locks. You use the leverage to pull his lips towards yours, meeting in a frantic crash that has you whining against him even more.

His tongue slips past your lips, subduing yours when you try the same on him, and you almost choke on the excess saliva pooling in your mouth. Right before you can, he pulls back in favor of trapping your lower lip between his teeth. Your eyes flutter open, and you meet his own dark gaze.

“Ready?” He huffs, pulling his fingers out from within you. They’re shiny with your slick, almost as wet as they’d been when he was swimming earlier. You nod, dazed from all the pleasure he was giving you, that you can’t do more but spread your legs for him. He leans back on his knees, lining himself up with your hole.

You’d long since eliminated condoms from your relationship with Jeongguk, your trust in each other overwhelmingly so. Besides, you were still on the pill, and Plan B existed, so you never really worried about slipping up and accidentally getting yourself pregnant. Although there were times when he’d go overboard, stuffing you with his cum until you feel bloated, you’d never gotten pregnant before, so you wouldn’t begin to worry now.

Just the idea of feeling him in his entirety has you salivating, needy hands reaching out to grasp any part of him you can reach. Jeongguk snickers at your desperate ways, knotting his fingers with yours before pressing them to the cushion beneath you, the other gripping onto your thigh to keep your legs spread.

The second his tip pushes through the initial tightness, your mouth drops open, indecipherable noises escaping you. “J-Jeon,” you cry, chest heaving at the sudden intrusion.

“Relax for me, princess,” he huffs, just as out of it as you. Your body feels like it’s ascended, Jeongguk’s cock slowly pushing in further with each breath you take. It doesn’t take much longer for him to completely bottom out, the warm skin of his thighs pressing against you.

You’re like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as your body slowly assimilates to the feeling of being so absolutely full. It’s not until Jeongguk subtly shifts his weight onto his other leg that you give him the green light to start fucking you.

You moan, the first few thrusts hitting against every sweet spot inside you. “God, you’re so fucking big,” you heave, clenching around him just to feel the drag of his cock against your walls.

Jeongguk chuckles through his own pants, the fingers entwined with yours becoming impossibly tighter. “You’re too good for me,” he sighs, hauling your thigh further up his forearm until its resting in the crease of his elbow. The positioning allows his strokes to go deeper. You cry out, squirming beneath him with each thrust he gives.

“Oh fuck,” you cry wantonly when he plunges deeper into you, the water that decorated his skin long having been replaced by the sweat clinging to him. Your eyes flutter shut and you’re left only listening to the sounds of you, Jeongguk, and the ocean waves beneath you. “I love you,” you whimper.

Jeongguk grunts, ducking down to kiss you again, his hips not once slowing down. “Love you too, princess,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I don’t deserve you,” he groans, puncuating his statement with a brutal thrust of his cock into you. “Gonna buy you that pretty Valentino bag when we get back, I promise,” he adds, picking up his pace.

You whine, “You don’t have to, Jeon, I—”

He cuts you off, “and that silver Audi you liked at the car show last winter,” he rambles on, seemingly clueless to your protest. “A-And maybe that Louis Vuttion coat that brings out the color in your eyes—”

“I saw the same one at H&M,” you interrupt, swiveling your hips upwards to meet his thrusts. He chokes out a laugh.

“Shut up and just let me spoil you,” he groans, and then seemingly forgets what else he was planning on buying you as he focuses his complete attention on helping you reach your orgasm.

With his focus solely on that, you find the burning feeling in your lower abdomen grow tenfold, voice becoming more annoying with each moan and whine you give. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his thrusts sending tingles up and down your spine. He peppers kisses down your chest, each touch leaving your skin scorching.

Time seems to slow when the coil in your stomach finally snaps, an embarrassingly loud moan leaving your lips as your body spasms beneath him. “Oh, Jeongguk,” you sigh, falling limp on the lounge chair as he continues chasing his high.

He pulls out soon enough, giving his cock a few tugs before he’s spurting his come across your lower abdomen, leaning back to admire his masterpiece. He’s panting afterwards, and the backyard feels eerily quiet as you both just gaze at each other with goofy smiles on your faces.

The romantic aura is ruined when he feels the need to say, “hey, maybe now my ass won’t be so white.”

“Fuck, you look sexy,” he murmurs when the instructor finally turns around, leaving Jeongguk to gawk at your body in the tight wetsuit provided. “Gonna fuck you so good tonight.”

“Shut up,” you blush, trying to stop your eyes from violating your boyfriend’s disgustingly gorgeous body in the matching wetsuit he wears. “We’ll get kicked out of the group, Guk.”

He rolls his eyes. “I could have rented the whole place out for us, but someone thought scuba diving with the other corny tourists would be fun.”

You flick his forehead. “You don’t have to buy out every building we go to,” you remind him, memories of this morning’s completely empty breakfast bar flickering to attention. “Besides, I wouldn’t have let you fuck me tonight anyway.”

He scoffs at your claim. “Please, you would have begged me, ___.”

You hit him with the wide end of your swimming fin, then have to apologize to the instructor for your horseplay, much to Jeongguk’s amusement. You narrow your eyes at him, following the rest of the group out onto the boardwalk leading to the boat. “Find me a Nemo, and we’ll do it in the beach cabana.”

Jeongguk’s lips twists into the most devious smirk you’ve ever seen, and he smacks your ass as he runs ahead of you. You yelp, just as he turns to face you just as he nears the group. “Has anyone seen my son?”

#the last line is a nemo reference #kpopwonderlandtag #thekpopnetwork #jeon jeongguk #jungkook smut #jjk smut #mine

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crisisdparity · 3 years

Text

Game Master Akuma AU

(Note: Originally submitted to @justanotherpersonsuniverse, on their advice I will be using my own tumblr for anything in the future related to this AU.)

Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he'd greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively.

Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item's stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia.

Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug.

Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt's history with characters dying) and he'd even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt's usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with.

Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history.

He'd put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He'd carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign.

In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he'd made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one.

Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn't need it anymore.

-----

It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app.

Matt/Chat - Chat's going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily.

Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I'd advise, but it's your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now.

Matt/Chat - <photo> 17

Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone's passive Perception easily. You'll sneak off handily without anyone noticing.

-----

"Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple."

"Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?"

Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt.

"19."

"Okay, difficult, but not undoable... Crap."

"What'd you get?"

"Nat 1..."

"Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!"

"Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!"

"Because it's payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish campaigns!"

"Oh, come on! You're not the only person whose had a character die at this table! Xavier runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they're always fair!"

"What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?"

"Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp."

"14!"

"Not much better, dude."

"Guys, it's fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-"

"Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece."

"The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound."

"So does Carapace."

"Vesperia too."

"-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you're all using the Dash action?, you've got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they're all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this."

"Rena screams 'What the HELL, Chat?! We're supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn't you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!'"

"Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!"

There was dead silence at the table.

"Matt... What... just... WHAT?!"

"Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe's on the other foot, huh?!"

"What the hell is your problem, Matt?!"

"My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I've spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!"

"Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!"

"I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY'RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!"

"THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!"

"NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN'T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I'M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!"

"MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!"

"Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time..."

"It's going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least."

Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour.

He'd given so much to making sure this would work. He'd apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He'd agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he'd pull something like this.

He'd nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else's. They'd somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They'd meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening.

It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he'd slaved over for months was kaput.

He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it.

"Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things."

This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he'd ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel.

"Not enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts."

He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he'd spent so much time on to life... What creator could ever turn down an offer like that?

"I, the Game Master, accept... Hawkmoth."

"Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders."

"No."

Hawkmoth was silent for a moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself."

"If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you."

"No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me."

And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence.

-----

Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn't remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn't usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo.

Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her.

She looked up.

And up.

To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her.

"How's the weather down there?" Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique.

"I WILL END YOU!" the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up.

Characters:

Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew)

Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast)

-----

Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope.

She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn't for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she'd have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings.

Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she'd have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her.

"You know, people are staring..." she said as she craned her head to look at her companions.

"Let them," the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. "They're just jealous because their boyfriends can't carry them everywhere."

Characters:

Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout)

Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour)

Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight)

-----

Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin.

She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she?

And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor?

Characters:

Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party)

Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew)

-----

Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she'd freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she'd come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she'd gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable.

It might help more if she could figure out where she was.

Or find another person.

Characters:

Polymouse - Kobold (rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned)

-----

Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance.

"Are you quite done?"

"Almost!" Pigella's cheerful voice answered. "Your fur is so comfy!"

Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels.

"I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen' I will stick you in a bottle."

"Aw, I love you too! Hey, what's that?"

"I think it's my character sheet?"

Characters:

Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory)

Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned)

-----

"According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules," Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. "I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master."

"Aweshum," King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk's robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him.

"Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water."

"Gotta keep up appearanshes!" King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness.

Characters:

Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned)

King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master)

-----

Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he'd never felt before.

"Hmm... perhaps I can work with this..."

"Speak for yourself..." Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face.

Characters:

Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others.

Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters

-----

"Oh, come on!" A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. "Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can't I join them?"

"Because you're too OP. You'd completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure."

"But sitting around is no fun at all!"

"If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger."

"That's it?! I'm on 'mysterious hooded figure' duty? Boo! Why can't I fight with them?!"

"Because you're too OP. But if you insist, I'll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions."

"YES!"

"Five."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information."

"That's it?"

"Yes. Choose your interventions wisely."

"So... if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle...?"

"Then I would allow you to join them of course."

"Score!"

Characters:

Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5)

Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign

-----

Addendum

When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it's basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back.

All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt's place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he has a similar playstyle to Matt, he's savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians.

They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

#game master akuma au #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #writings

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cchellacat · 4 years

Text

I Will Be Waiting

Darcy Lewis Bingo

Y1: Soulmate AU

Bucky/Darcy

18+ for some smutterfluff

Darcy never wanted to meet her soulmate, fate has other plans.

Thank you @hawksmagnolia for all your support and help and for the absolutely beautiful cover art/mood board!

Darcy had been coming to New York since she was a kid. She loved the hustle and bustle, the people, the sounds, and the vibrance of the city. When Jane had taken up a teaching position at Columbia she’d been excited, with Jane as a guaranteed roommate she could finally afford to live in the city of her dreams.

It took her a month, applying for jobs to find one but she lucked out and got a great foot in the door at Stark Industries. It only took a year before some wise guy sent her up to act as Stark's assistant for the day; no doubt thinking she’d crash and burn or walk out as every other person had for the last ten years. Not Darcy Lewis, no siree, Darcy Lewis was not a quitter and Tony Stark was an overgrown man child, accustomed to pushing people's buttons till they cracked. Darcy didn’t crack. She pushed back. In less than a month she had Stark’s schedule running like clockwork and Pepper had given her the stamp of approval, promising that she’d be canonised as a saint when she died. Darcy had been walking on cloud nine ever since. Her job was a bit of everything, but surprisingly similar to a lot of what she'd done for Jane, everything from paperwork and coffee to experimental engineering. Her salary rivaled most department heads and she had been able to move into an apartment in the Tower. When Jane had visited Darcy she’d crossed paths with Tony and the two had hit it off. Jane’s funding went from meager to unlimited and she was offered science space at the Tower. All in all, life was good.

One of Darcy’s favourite places in New York was in Central Park. There was a small plaza, in a quiet area of the park, perfect for some sun and picnicking at lunchtime. On a plinth at the far end was a statue. The real mystery though was that no one knew where it had come from. The statue of the man was just over six feet, he appeared to be a soldier, in full uniform from around the second World War. He stood, with one arm reaching out, as though waiting for someone to take his hand. There was no record of it being commissioned, no artist had claimed it. Eventually, the city had simply installed the wide plinth with room for the invisible stranger to stand on and constructed the small plaza since it had become somewhat of a tourist attraction. Many people visited just to get a photograph with the handsome soldier.

As with any good urban legend, a fairly ridiculous story built up around the statue. The most prevalent story was that he’d been a real man, frozen in time and only his soulmate could break the curse and bring him back to life. This was completely absurd, but romance sells and so it was in every tourist book and even had its own following on social media.

Touching the soldier was seen as good luck; people said if you did you’d meet your soulmate within a year. It had such cultural belief that many people ended up saying their first words to each other in this very spot. It was rumoured that Pepper Pots had met Tony Stark here ten years ago while she was on her lunch break and the man had spoken to her for the first time when he was passing through on a date with another woman. Darcy doesn't know if that's true, but she's about ninety-nine percent convinced it’s pretty damn accurate. Her boss has a picture of himself and Pepper in front of the soldier on his desk that he often looked at smugly.

The Searching Soldier was deemed as the perfect place for romantic proposals, first dates, and even the occasional wedding. Darcy had seen her fair share of men and women getting on one knee and popping the question in the last two years since she’d made it her regular lunch spot and she couldn’t help but love this place for that alone. The Searching Soldier had become an icon and a symbol of true love and Darcy’s escape from the constant buzz of the building she worked and lived in.

She crumples up her napkin and grabs her coffee cup and ambles over, throwing the waste in the bin before coming to a stop in front of the statue. She’s been inclined more than once to just climb up the steps and touch him, but she’d never been particularly superstitious or even very desperate to meet the man who will give her his first words. In spite of that, every time she stands here, part of her is really tempted to do it anyway. She’s looked at his face every day for two years, trying to figure out the expression. It doesn’t look hopeful or happy. His eyes are slightly wide, his mouth caught mid-smile, or perhaps on the cusp of speaking a name. He looks, Darcy thinks, both resigned and startled. Some days she thinks he’s saying goodbye instead of hello. Her phone beeps, disturbing her a little from her contemplation and she realises she's going to be late back to work if she doesn't hustle. Throwing one last look at the soldier and his out-stretched hand she hurried off.

Stark’s experimental lab was a perfect example of finely organised chaos. Darcy both hated and loved it. There was certainly never a dull moment with Tony as her boss, but the number of clean up requirements every time an experiment went wrong meant overtime as well as exacting and specially vetted clean up crews to ensure no proprietary research left the building.

It’s getting late but Tony is in the final stages of construction of what he says will be a time machine. Darcy doesn’t want to think about the possible ramifications of such a breakthrough and has already discreetly informed Pepper and the Legal department.

“Hey, pass me the sonic wrench will you?”

Darcy glares at the tools in front of her. She’s half-convinced he makes this stuff up just to mess with her. She randomly grabs an oddly shaped tool and passes it over.

When it happens, Darcy is caught off guard. The machine hums to life in almost the same second that the lab doors are forced open. Tony grabs her and hauls her up onto the pad behind him, his watch enveloping his hand as the repulsor glove activates. There is shouting going on and a gun fires. She’s not afraid to admit that at the moment, panic sets in and she’s hardly coherent of anything other than the feel of Tony's hand in hers before he wrenches it free and then slides something onto her wrist. The next thing she knows, the machine whirs to life, there's a sharp noise like metal on glass and then she's falling.

Silence envelopes her as she hits the ground. The bright light of the lab was gone, replaced with almost total darkness and the scent of damp. She groans, pushing herself up and is thankful when Tony’s twin moan of pain reaches her ears through the dark.

“Tony?”

“You ok, Short Stack?”

“I’m fine, what the hell was that?”

“Time travel without a capsule. A little bumpy, but we managed.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

“No, why would I?”

“Are you insane? We can’t go experimenting on ourselves.”

“Would you rather we stayed where we were and got shot or kidnapped?”

Darcy glares as Tony’s suit deploys and an ethereal glow emanates from the nanotech.

“How are we meant to get back?”

Tony grins.

“I’m glad you asked. I put a recall device on us both before I launched us out of time.”

“The wristband?”

He nods and moves to check her over.

“You seem alright. How are you feeling? Dizzy?, headache?... how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Ugh, you are not a doctor, Tony. I’m fine. Just jittery.”

“Hmmm, shock, probably. Good, that means they work.”

“Means what works?”

“The wristband isn’t just a tracker, it’s like a bubble of real-time from our timeline, one that travels with us and keeps us from what I theorised could be temporal sickness caused by the jump.”

“So what now?”

“We lay low for a few days, in forty-eight to ninety-six hours the tracker engages and we’re pulled back to our own time. Easy.”

“Sure it is, but what are we meant to do while we wait? Do you know when we are? We don’t have any money and I refuse to stay trapped in this mouldy basement for the next two days.”

Tony looks mildly chagrined before shrugging a little and muttering about him figuring it out. Darcy sighs and follows him. She was putting in for danger pay when she got back. This was above and beyond.

They make their way up through some abandoned tunnels, the air turning colder and colder the higher they climb. When they finally make it to the top Darcy realises they are in a railway tunnel and there is a train coming straight at them. Tony manhandles her for the second time that day and pulls her out of the way. Only his suit saved them from a steep snowy drop into the ravine below.

They’re barely back on their feet when an explosion rips through the air and the side of the train car that almost hit them rips open. Even with the speed it’s going, the unmistakable form of a man falling has Darcy crying in horror. Tony doesn’t hesitate. At that moment he forgets where he is, all that matters is saving a life. He takes off, leaving Darcy safely on the embankment, and flies after the man as the train speeds out of sight.

A shaking and cursing soldier drops in front of her as Tony lands and his suit retracts back into its casing. Darcy is barely processing it all as she stares at the stranger, he looks so familiar. He’s tall, dark-haired with the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. He shouts angrily, accusations flying back and forth as Tony explains who they are. Darcy doesn’t blame him, she wouldn’t believe them either. He does tell them the date though, 1945. She has traveled back in time seventy-five years, they are apparently somewhere in Austria. When he finally gives them a name, Tony winces and Darcy’s ears perk up. She knows that name. She knows it because the man in front of her died a hero, falling to his death from a train just before the end of the war. If they weren’t already white with the cold she’s pretty sure Tony would be turning transparent. How the hell do you tell someone they’re dead and have been for seventy-five years? Yeah, it goes down about as well as you’d think. Darcy suddenly sneezes and the sound of her teeth chattering stops both of the men mid-argument. It’s the first time the guy finally looks at her, his eyes seem to widen and then he’s whipped off his coat and swept it around her.

“We can’t stay out here, we have to get off this mountain and back to base.” He addresses Tony. Darcy almost wants to punch him for the rudeness of ignoring her even as she pulls the warm coat around her tightly, savouring the comforting warmth.

“What do you not get about you’re dead? You can’t go back, you can never go back!” Tony punctuates each point with a finger jab at Sergeant Barnes, she grabs his hand to stop him. Barnes looks about one more jab away from knocking Tony out.

“Tony, we still have to get out of here and somewhere sheltered. We don’t know how long we have before we go back and we can’t just leave the Sergeant without any help either. Maybe he can’t go back, but there must be something we can do to help him, right?”

Tony looks at her grudgingly and nods.

“Okay, I’ve got a plan. We get back to the base, I go in alone and talk to Howard. We fly to New York and I’ll make sure Barnes here gets set up with a new identity and a job.”

Darcy smiles as brightly as possible at Barnes.

“See? A whole new start, it’ll be great!”

Barnes's eyes widen for a moment before he bites out the words she had been dreading to hear her whole life.

“I won’t leave Steve!”

To be fair, he looks almost apologetic the second after they came out of his mouth but Darcy closes up and Tony growls.

“What did you just say?”

Barnes raises his hands shaking his head, looking beseechingly at Darcy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just-”

“Have you got any idea the damage those words have done to her you selfish neanderthal?”

Tony had seen her words once, completely by accident. They’d had to go through decontamination after a spill in the lab, the showers hadn’t left much room for modesty. Her words crawled up the small of her back, just below the rise of her jeans. After that, the older man had been stupidly attentive and protective of her. She’d honestly never expected to encounter her soulmate like this, and especially not with Tony in tow. Tony who knew more of her secrets than anyone other than Jane.

Barnes' face at Tony’s accusation was bitterly remorseful. His eyes flashed to Darcy, boring into her own deeply, seeing the hurt and rejection she’d lived with her whole life. He stepped towards her, his lips parted, she wanted to say something, but any words she could have said were swiftly cut as Tony pushed him back and away from Darcy.

“I said I’m sorry!” his voice is harsh and Darcy thinks she can almost see the threads as he unravels. “But I can’t leave Steve, he needs my help, he’ll get himself killed if I’m not there-”

Tony gabs Barnes and shakes him.

“Rogers lives. You died and Captain America carried on, did just fine without you. You going back, being alive? That could change all of history and just might get your friend killed. Do you want to do that? Risk the future just to butt in where you’re no longer needed?”

Tony’s words were scathing and sharp but no less true for the content.

“Tony! That’s enough….” she turns to Barnes. “Look, I’m sorry this happened, but you were meant to die, it must feel like your life has been turned upside down, I know. But it’s better than actually being dead, right?”

His eyes settle on her and he shakes his head, she suddenly wants to be anywhere but here. He looks lost and afraid and she can’t help but feel this is her fault.

“Better than being dead? I can’t see my best friend ever again and my soul mate is going back to the future. I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life, I’m over the fuckin moon.”

She recoils like a blow has been struck. He’s angry, of course, he is. She is too. This should never have happened. It’s not fair, but if there is one thing she’d learned in life it’s that it is never fair. She’s toe to toe with him, shaking from anger or cold, she’s not sure which.

“How do you think I feel? I’ve been shot at, fell through time, nearly got hit by a train and now my soulmate wants nothing to do with me and even if he did I’m never going to see him again! You’re not the only one with a sucky life Barnes but I’m not having a tantrum over it. Suck it up soldier and deal with it. This is life.”

Twin blue eyes blaze at each other before Tony comes between them again and then she ignores Barnes, letting Tony guide her as they get off the mountainside.

It takes six hours to get back to the base. Tony somehow manages to carry them both, flying low and slow until the dark green tents and the wooden barracks appear. They drop down a few miles out, Tony leaving them both sneak in and find Howard. He doesn’t think it will take much to convince his dad of who he is and tells them to stay safe until he gets back.

Barnes stalkes about the clearing they’re in like an angry bear while Darcy does her best to push away the strange grief she feels welling up in her heart. It doesn’t make much sense, really, it’s not like she knows him or is going to get the chance. The wristbands are their only way home, not equipped to carry an extra passenger. Tony had already put the full stop in her unspoken question about her staying. It was a huge no-no, she didn’t belong in this time, he was almost certain the time-stream would rearrange itself around her if she stayed but that it would most likely try to erase her the longer she stayed. He’d made too good an argument for the universe trying to Final Destination her ass to be comfortable with taking the risk.

“I don't even know your name” She jerks a little at the abrupt statement, suddenly aware of how close he'd come to her.

Bucky feels like his world just ended and nothing is ever going to feel right again. When he’d fallen from the train he was certain he was going to die. It was a long way down and in those few moments where he fell he’d almost made peace with his end. The words inked on his arm the only regret he had. He’d wondered his whole life about the girl that would one day try to reasure him.

See? A whole new start, it’ll be great!

Wondered what he’d say to her, how he’d greet her. Instead of one of the many things he’d hoped he might say he’d pretty much rejected her for someone else. He cringes at the thought that she had spent her life wondering who Steve was to him that he’d refuse her. Now here he was, with the one girl he was made for, who was made for him and he was furious at himself for the cock-up he’d made of it. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, feeling the small ice crystals melt when they come in contact with his hand. It’s freezing out here but he hardly feels the cold. It’s been that way for a while now, not just the immunity to the cold, but the strength and the speed and his senses all sharper and better than they’d ever been. He can see her shivering, even with the long blue coat of his wrapped around her tiny frame.

God, they haven’t even been introduced properly. He feels like a fool.

“I don’t even know your name.”

She looks up at him, seeming surprised at his closeness.

“Darcy Lewis.” she doesn’t give him more than that, a brief snippet of knowledge.

“James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky.” she raises a brow, “I’m sorry for how I reacted back there, for what I said. You didn’t deserve those words. I was just worried about my friend. You gotta understand, I’ve known him since we were kids, he’s like family to me.”

Darcy sighs. “I get it, I do. Consider it forgiven.” she shivers again and hugs herself tighter.

Bucky feels a twinge of guilt.

“Don’t know how long your friend’s going to be, we could..” he trails off, his hand, held towards her hesitantly, gesturing for something.

Darcy looks at the outstretched hand, it's like a bell in the back of her mind, like deja vu.

“Look, you’re obviously freezing, come here and we can huddle, share warmth. I know it's a little unconventional, but I promise I’m not trying to make a move.”

Darcy snorted.

“Like I couldn’t take you if I needed to.”

The way she side-eyes him and the little twist of her lips as she delivers the words induce a sudden chuckle. It’s been a while since a dame smacked him down so dismissively. Part of him admires her moxie while a deeper part finds a bittersweet understanding of why the universe paired them. He could see it. How they could be. If life had given them a different path.

Darcy throws a half-hearted glare his way.

“What, you don’t think I could?”

“Oh, I’m certain you would if I got fresh, Doll. Come here, you’re freezing, no use refusing just to make a point.”

“And if I said no?”

“You could, '' he nods his head. “ But you won’t, you’re too practical and smart to be the kinda girl that’d cut her own nose off just to spite her face.”

“James Barnes, is that a compliment for little old me?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Of course, she would be full of sass to match his.

“Tellin’ you you’re beautiful would be a compliment. I’m just calling a spade a spade.”

Darcy presses her lips together, refusing to smile and lets him take her hand, he pulls her in close and wraps his arms around her as she tucks her head into his chest. When she realises he really is like her own personal space heater she unashamedly clings to him like a limpet.

“Getting comfortable, Doll?”

“Digging in, like the spade I am.”

She replies dryly then lets out a tiny giggle and feels an answering rumble of amusement from his chest. His arms tighten around her a little and she sighs, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she tells him quietly.

“Least I could do.” He responds equally quiet. A silence lapses between them but it lacks the jagged edges that it had held before. Darcy breathes him in. It would be so easy, she thinks a little sadly, to get used to this.

It’s dawn when Tony gets back to them, Howard in tow. In less time than she’d expected they were in the air and flying over the Atlantic. Tony and Howard are upfront, conspiring away while she’s stuck in the cabin with Bucky. It’s strange watching the man, her soulmate, the little voice in her head whispers, as he sleeps.

Out there in the snow and ice, he’d been all hard edges and furrowed lines. In sleep the angles of his face softened, he looked younger. She’s not blind, the man has the sort of face you’d expect to see in some lookbook for a model agency. Maybe if he’d been born in her time he’d have found himself doing exactly that or perhaps acting on some cable tv show. He was almost pretty but with just enough dangerous charm to describe him as strikingly handsome. More man than boy, despite the big blue eyes and soft lips. If she had to admit to a type, he was exactly hers. Not surprising considering the words curling up her spine. It doesn’t seem to be something she can entirely dismiss, even when she knows there's no future here for them. Her heart sees him and she feels like the breath is knocked out of her. But even the knowledge that he hadn’t been rejecting her is now more of a burden than a relief. A burden because she can’t help but wonder what could have been. It’s like being given water in a desert and then having someone take it away to pour into the sand. In his sleep, he curls an arm around her and pulls her in close. Darcy lets him, selfishly allowing herself to pretend that this isn’t just a temporary stop along the road. She closes her eyes and rests her head against his chest and cuddles in. Deep inside she thinks they really could have been something.

The change in air pressure, subtle though it is, is what wakes him. He finds Darcy wedged into his side, fast asleep. He can feel the plane descending. She’s a soft warm, sweet-smelling refuge of hope amidst the raging storm of his emotions. He’s torn. He thinks he should be pushing her away, this is just prolonging and making matters worse. He doesn’t want to get attached. She's going to leave and he’s never going to see her again. His heart, soul? Whatever they want to call it, this connection the universe gave them is pushing him to keep her close and never let her go. It seems the longer they spend in close proximity the stronger the pull is between them. He has no idea where he’s going to go from here. What sort of future he’s going to have, but the unsettling feeling that there isn’t one without her leaves him numb.

“Hey…”

His eyes flick down to meet hers, gazing up at him, sleep heavy and soft. This is what he was meant to wake up to every morning, he thinks, somewhat bitterly before a fond smile, curls around his lips at the cute scrunch of her nose.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Darcy huffs and reluctantly pushes away from him.

“Please don’t…” she trails off. The way he was looking at her made her heart swell, she could feel herself softening to him with every second. “This wasn’t what I expected…” she pauses and shakes her head. God that was a stupid thing to say, neither of them could have predicted anything like this.

Bucky purses his lips but keeps quiet. He can see her struggle to put her thoughts in order and his Ma raised him to be polite. He let her gather them, seeing the little wheels turning behind her eyes.

“When I was a kid I used to pretend I didn’t have words. I figured it was easier to say I was blank than admit my soulmate didn’t want me… wouldn’t want me. I told it to myself so much it felt true.” It had felt like that. She had cut herself off from any sort of longing to protect herself from the pain of being rejected. It wasn’t something that happened very often, but it did happen. People refused their soulmate, denied the bond and it would fade into nothing, Meeting your soulmate wasn’t a guarantee of happiness, it was just a chance, an opportunity to find the person best suited to you, but it didn’t guarantee love. “I thought if we ever crossed paths we’d both walk away content with the decision. Me happy to let you have what you wanted, you happy not to have some overly emotional drama queen stalking you.”

He could feel her sadness, her eyes were wet and her voice wavered. He gently cupped her face and caught the tear as it trailed over her pale skin.

“But now…. Now it feels like, -”

“Like we’ve been cheated. Like you were given a chance but the choice has been taken away. It was your choice before, to walk away from me when you thought I wouldn't want you.”

“But I didn’t have all the facts. If we’d met in my time… God, everything would be different, we’d still have a choice, an opportunity to ... I can feel it, you know? You feel it too right?”

His thumb stroked over her lip.

“Yeah, I feel it too, s’like magnets pulling together. Never wanted to know someone the way I want to know you.”

The sincerity in his voice struck a chord deep in her soul. She felt the same echo in her own.

“But we can’t. And this… the way you’re looking at me and touching me… I want it so badly but it’s just going to hurt so much more when I leave... if we keep doing this. I can’t afford to get this comfortable with you, I don’t want to... I’ve been hurting my whole life but now it's real and in front of me and I…” Darcy crumples. Maybe she’d convinced herself she’d never have a great love, but it didn't mean she’d ever really stopped wanting it. She feels like every moment in her life leads here, an inexorable inevitable point, fixed and immovable and she doesn’t want it to end.

He gathers her close, feels her tears soaking into his shirt as she cries. She’s breaking his heart. Every bit of him wants to protect her, comfort her; seeing her like this and knowing there is nothing he can do makes him furious at the world, at whatever god consigned them to this tragedy.

“It’s not fair...it’s not.”

“I know it’s not, princess. But we’re going to hurt either way. Why not make a few memories to hold onto?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, his mind changed. Maybe this wasn't going to be a forever, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least hold onto whatever he could get.

Darcy breathes and considers his idea. Maybe he’s right, isn’t this going to hurt no matter what?

“We might only get hours, a few days at most.” she’s not sure if she's trying to discourage him or begging him to tell her it doesn’t matter, that he’ll take whatever he can get. He doesn’t disappoint her.

“Then we make them count. Enough for the life-time, we could have had.”

Bucky places two fingers under her chin, bringing her gaze to his. Darcy blinks then lets it all go, lets her guard down, and sinks into his eyes. She thinks for a moment she forgets to breathe. His eyes are soft, a warmth in the deep blue. He smiles gently, encouraging an answering smile from her lips.

“Okay.” She finally lets go of the fear, embraces the chance to snatch a few small moments of beauty amid the chaos of their inevitable defeat. How, after all, could you win against time?

“Okay?”

Her smile grows wider at the happiness in his eyes and he hums a little tune. It’s a small thing but it brings a tiny snort of laughter from her, an old song so ironically apt.

“They can’t take that away from me.”

“What?” Her brows rise, was he serenading her?

“The way your smile just beams.” He sang softly, grinning down at her. She giggles.

“The way I sing off-key?” She answers back in kind.

“The way you’ll haunt my dreams… no no they can’t take that away from me.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Seventy-five years and people still know that song?”

“I like the Fred and Ginger movies, that one was a favourite.”

“I’d have liked that, taking you to a movie, on a date. Take you dancing somewhere so I could hold you close.”

“You don’t have to dance with me to do that” Darcy wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and Bucky thinks he’s never felt so charmed in his life.

When they finally get off the plane Darcy pulls Tony off to one side.

“I need time,” she tells him.

“Lewis, I swear if I could fix this…” He looks pained, but Darcy just shakes her head.

“No, that's not what I meant. I need time on my own with him, it’s the only chance we’ll ever have and I want to make the most of it, you understand, right?”

Tony sighs. She’s stubborn and fierce and he’s done his best to ignore the way the two had gravitated towards each other once their words were spoken. He knew from his own match that trying to keep them apart would have been pointless so he hadn’t tried, maybe even encouraged it by staying with Howard and letting the man talk his ear off. He gets it, he really does and just once, he can give her this.

“Think you can keep out of trouble till we get pulled back?” at her nod he continues. “Fine. When the recall alert goes off make your way to Central Park. We’ll meet at the little plaza, it should be deserted enough and open enough for our return back. You’ll have about half an hour to get there so don’t stray too far.”

She surprises him with a quick hug and a whispered thanks in his ear and then he watches as she drags Barnes off by the hand.

Forty-three hours later her wrist device beeps. Darcy looks at it mournfully and cuddles into Bucky’s arms. He’s spooning her, her body snugly tucked against his. It all feels so monumentally right, the feel of his skin against her, the rhythm of his heartbeat in time with hers, the way each breath between them works in harmony. His arms are wrapped tightly around, holding her fast, she wishes she could stay here forever, in this one perfect moment, suspended like a dragonfly in amber.

“Bucky, baby, we’ve got to go.” His body tenses and he mutters into her shoulder.

“It’s not fair Darcy… it’s not right.”

“I know. But we’ve had this.”

“S’not enough, doll. It could never be enough.”

He growled, tugging her under him as he rolled on top of her. His mouth met hers swiftly, kissing her till she was breathless and clutching him to her as her body sang for his.

It’s quick and desperate. Two bodies trying to merge deeper than imaginable, both of them attempting to leave their mark on the other. When they peak she cries, even as her body shudders in pleasure. It’s the sweetest torture. To have this and know it will soon be over. She feels his tears on her skin, falling to mingle with her own against her cheeks as he kisses her deeply. She never thought a kiss could feel like this, like hello and goodbye and forever.

They make their way to the park with a few minutes to spare.

When she enters the clearing where the little plaza is usually found, all that's there is a wide grassy space with a few benches and a path. It’s a little jarring to see it like this, without the presence of the Searching Soldier the place felt empty, haunted. Before she can think about it anymore there’s the sound of shouting and the retort of a gun. It’s like the lab all over again, only this time it’s Bucky that grabs her and forces her behind him.

“Put the fucking gun away Howard, it’s not going to help!” That's Tony's voice carrying through the trees.

Tony and Howard burst into the clearing, running, and made a beeline for Darcy and Bucky.

“Three minutes till we get delorean’d back to the future, Lewis and we’ve got a sorcerer on our ass.”

“What? Like Strange?” A blast of golden light cuts through the trees and they’re thrown off their feet.

“More Voldemort than Dumbledore, but sure.”

“What the hell do they want?” Bucky hisses at Tony.

Tony shoots him his patented “Am I the only smart person in the room” expression and Darcy elbows him in the ribs.

“What do you think? They want to know the future!”

“You’re telling me you managed to get Nazi wizards on our asses in less than two days?”

“Like it’s my fault!”

Darcy glares like she could set him on fire.

“Fine, it’s about 12% my fault, the rest is his,” he tells her, nodding at his shamefaced father.

“Oh god, there’s two of you. Now I can tell Pepper where you get it from!”

Tony scowls as they dodge another blast, running and throwing themselves behind a low wall beside the path.

“What are we meant to do?”

“We just need to stay in one piece till we get yanked back.”

“What about Bucky, and Howard?”

A sudden flash of light behind them as a portal opens sends them scrambling, but instead of danger, the serene face of a woman looks down on them as she emerges from the rip in reality. Her head is bald, her porcelain skin seems to shimmer, and about her neck is the faint green glow of the eye. Darcy recognises it as the Time Stone.

“Dr. Stark.” she nods.

“Ancient One.”

Darcy is taken aback at the seriousness of his tone and the respect he gives the woman without question. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

Four sorcerers follow behind her and scatter quickly, facing off against the enemy as spellfire bathes the clearing in an eerie light.

The Ancient One moves her hands in a complicated pattern, a golden dome engulfs them in a protective bubble.

“You are safe now and there is not much time.” She regards Bucky with a sharp eye and traces some unseen line back to Darcy. Her gaze softens as he takes Darcy’s hand in his, moving protectively in front of her.

“You have nothing to fear for your soulmate, Sergeant Barnes, I mean neither her nor yourself any harm.”

“All due respect Ma'am, but I don’t know you and I don’t trust you.”

She nods to him and returns her gaze to Darcy.

“The timeline of this universe has been irreparably altered. I can see why now and perhaps this way is better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your Sergeant had another path he should have followed, one that still would have ensured you crossed paths here in your future. That way is now lost, since it cannot be recovered, perhaps there is a way to resolve your current predicament.”

“Can you send Bucky back to the future with us?” she asks her hopefully.

The Ancient One smiles mysteriously.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But I am afraid your soulmate will have to take the slow path.”

Darcy’s face fell. She had hoped… The watch beeped again, Tony gave her an apologetic look as he held his hand out to her.

“It’s time, Short Stack.”

She doesn’t let Bucky's hand go even as she is reluctantly pulled away by Tony. Bucky seems about to speak, the smallest regretful smile turning his lips and then the Ancient one taps his shoulder just as Darcy's hand leaves his. Bucky freezes, caught in a moment, utterly still as his whole body seemingly turns to stone. Darcy tries to lunge back, a cry of horror ringing out.

“He will be here, waiting, Miss Lewis. And like any good fairy tale, true love's kiss will break the spell.” The Ancient One imparts softly.

Darcy doesn’t have time to react to the words before she feels caught up in a whirlwind of motion and the world jerks sharply to the left.

They come awake together in the lab they left from. Tony tripping over himself to check the machine. The place looks fine, nothing seems out of the ordinary. It’s like the firefight in here never happened.

“Tony?”

He sweeps his desk for his phone and checks the date.

“Just as I thought. The same day we left from, it’s lunchtime. We’ve come back before we left. Come on, we better get out of here before we run into ourselves.”

They take the secret elevator out and Darcy follows Tony without question, still half in shock and trying to wrap her mind around the events she’d just experienced.

Before she knows it, they’re back at Central Park. Tony shepherding her along in a daze.

“It all makes sense now, this is crazy. I mean, you’ve spent every lunchtime here for the last two years... Darcy..., Double D! Snap out of it.”

“He’s been there, all that time?” she finally says, shock and disbelief colouring her tone.

“From the moment we left. He’s been there. Waiting for you.” Tony puts his hands on her shoulders and she doesn’t know whether to sob or laugh.

“I didn’t lose him?”

“Look, “ he tells her, nodding over her shoulder. She turns her head, as though seeing the statue for the first time. It’s him, it’s really, him.

She looks back at Tony, shaking her head.

“What do I do? What if it doesn’t work… what if-”

“Lewis! Breathe.”

Darcy curls her hands into fists and sucks in a deep lungful of New York air. She is a well of mixed emotion, confused and hopeful and terrified. It’s almost too painful to believe this is real. That he’s been here, all this time, trapped in a single moment, waiting for her to free him.

“This is unbelievable.”

“I know.” he agrees soothingly.

“He’s the Searching Soldier”

“Patron Saint of true love and all-around good luck charm. New York may never recover the loss. Pretty sure, lover boy over there accounts for about a quarter of tourist revenue.”

Darcy snorts, a hysterical giggle forcing its way out. Tony only manages to keep a straight face for about a half-second longer than her before they're both howling with laughter. Passers-by stare at them as they walk past. Eventually, breathless and shaking but far calmer, Darcy stops.

An exasperated cough to their right has both turning sharply.

Stephen Strange is dressed casually, a grey jacket with a matching scarf wrapped around his neck, hands stuffed in the pockets.

“I don’t have all day you know.”

“Strange.” Tony gives the wizard a distrustful frown. He dislikes Strange on principle. The man tacks an inordinate amount of pleasure in needling him.

“Stark, Miss Lewis.”

“What are you doing here?”

Strange rolls his eyes, a look eerily similar to Tony’s own” How do I deal with these idiots” sneer crossing his face before he dispels it at the look Darcy throws at him. She is so clearly done with all the shit today.

“Well, we can’t just let the rest of New York know that a man has been trapped in stone for seventy-five years, can we? Besides, the sudden disappearance of a national treasure would be impossible to hide and the economic impact… what, what? Stop laughing, honestly, Stark, can’t you take this seriously for five minutes?”

“So, you’re here to cover it up.”

“Indeed. Miss Lewis will break the spell, I’ll cast an illusion and Wong will bring the duplicate statue through from the Sanctum.”

“How…”

“Did I know? Well, the Ancient One left a reminder on Wong’s phone. Got the alert this morning and crafted a replacement...”

Darcy shakes her head, tuning Strange out, and faces the statue. She’s put it off long enough. She takes off, leaving Strange and Tony bickering behind her, and crosses the plaza. She only pauses for a moment at the bottom of the plinth before determinedly taking the steps and standing beside him.

She knows the answer to the question now. The expression on his face had been both I love you and goodbye. She takes his hand in hers and steps closer before pressing her lips to cold stone. For the tiniest instant, she thinks it didn’t work, but then it’s like the world suddenly found its breath and cold marble becomes warm flesh, unyielding stone transmutes to living motion and she faintly hears a gasp before strong arms crush her close. Bucky’s voice, whispering her name, fills her ears and then he’s kissing her as if he’ll never stop and she revels in every second of it. A Million possibilities open before them. Infinity beckons.

#wintershock #darcy/bucky #dlbingo2020 #dlbingo #my writing

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